Say Something
by JennWithAPenn
Summary: Anne Shirley has loved Gilbert Blythe all her life. Did he really need to catch the fever for her to realize it, or is there another scenario that would have brought he and Anne together? This time, Gilbert takes control of his own destiny. This is an alternate ending to Anne of the Island—a little more tension, a little more humor, and of course... a little more romance!
1. Now or Never

_I'd like to think there's a universe out there in which it doesn't take Gilbert almost dying to make Anne realize she loves him. That being said, th_is is an alternate ending to Anne of the Island. It_ is a little different—and in my opinion, more romantic—version. This time, Gilbert grabs the reigns of his own destiny. And it is with him that our story begins…_

**Say Something**

**Chapter One: Now or Never**

**K+**

Gilbert Blythe sat in his small bedroom at Redmond College. The creamy beige curtains which framed the window were not drawn, yet the room was rather dim. A cover of cloud was beginning to stretch its fingers over the town of Kingsport, providing a gloom outside Gilbert's window that matched the way he was feeling within. Upon returning from his last final examination, he had stumbled home, dazed and unaware. He had silently entered his boarding house, cordially acknowledging the shouts of congratulations of those in the living room, and continued, unseeing, up to his room. He had then slumped onto his bed, and there he still lay, staring up at the ceiling. The ache that gnawed at his stomach was making him feel sick—not that he wasn't already sick anyway. The past term had seen a decline in Gilbert's health that even his slightest acquaintances couldn't help but notice. His complexion, once fair and rosy, had become pale and sallow. Large rings appeared around his eyes. His clothes fit more loosely around his body than ever before. He had participated in fewer clubs, frequently missed Lambs meetings and events, and kept largely to his room. Most people attributed his change in appearance to the effort he put into his studies. He was, after all, at the top of his class, so many assumed that the rigor of his last term of undergraduate study had been taking a toll on his body. He would be better once term was over, they figured. But this time, as he lay motionless for several hours, "studying" could serve as no excuse. Final exams were over. Tomorrow he would be receiving his B.A.

Gilbert sighed and turned over on his side, staring blankly at the desk opposite his bed. It was covered in books, diagrams, charts, and to-do lists. Scraps of paper littered the floor around a small wastebasket adjacent to a tall, stiff-backed wooden chair. No more studying, at least for now. All was said and done, and he was about to be a B.A. Several whoops and hollers echoed from downstairs as he heard the front door open and shut. Charlie must have just returned home. Surely he was heading out soon with the other seniors to celebrate. But Gilbert didn't feel like celebrating. He contemplated the incongruity of the situation. He had just completed the greatest achievement of his life thus far; he had finished college. He should be racing out with Charlie and all the other young men, to take the night that was theirs. They had earned it. Yet all Gilbert felt like doing was folding into himself, over and over, until he disappeared entirely from the face of the earth.

Echoes from a conversation earlier that day played over and over in his head. He had been sitting in the courtyard of Redmond with Charlie, as well as Frank Carlson and Clarence Taylor. Finals were over and Gilbert had never been more relieved. The four young men had just finished exchanging congratulatory slaps on the back, afterwards settling down on the lawn to enjoy the sunshine of a warm spring day. But just as the weather was destined to turn sour, so was Gilbert's mood.

He had just finished telling Charlie a joke he had overheard the day before, when Frank remarked to the group, clearly proud to be the one to furnish the latest gossip: "Did you hear that Roy Gardner is going to propose to Anne Shirley after Convocation tomorrow?"

All of a sudden, Gilbert couldn't breathe. The world grew fuzzy, and he felt as if he might faint. His ears were ringing as if an entire nest of mosquitoes were hovering around his head. Anne Shirley, engaged to Roy Gardner? The whole idea of it sounded so… wrong. Yes, they had been seeing each other regularly for the past year and a half, and yes, people had hinted at their inevitable engagement for months. Yes, he had believed as well as anyone that it would happen. But at the same time, he now realized, he _hadn't_ believed it. He hadn't actually believed it was going to happen because, well, Anne didn't _belong_ with Roy. That was one thing Gilbert knew for sure. Roy with his melancholy eyes, expensive clothes, and pretentious airs. Anne, with her sensitive soul, adventurous spirit, and unconventional beauty. The two just didn't go together; Gilbert was sure of that.

"Gilbert... _Gil!_" Charlie's voice echoed inside his head and forced Gilbert's mind back to the surface. "Are you alright? We seem to have lost you for a moment."

"Oh, sorry, I was just, thinking over my answer to a trigonometry question. I think I... got my answer wrong," Gilbert replied, stumbling to find an excuse for his reverie. "So... what's this about Roy Gardner and Anne Shirley? Are you sure he is planning on proposing or is that just the rumor mill talking?"

"Oh no," replied Frank importantly. "I heard it from Clyde Fellows, and he had it straight from Roy himself—and that's just as good."

Gilbert's heart sank. Clyde Fellows was well-known to be Roy's closest friend. He would never go spreading rumors about Roy that weren't true. Gilbert suddenly began to feel as if he might vomit. He also felt a certain hotness welling up behind his eyes. He needed to get out of there; he needed to be alone.

"Sorry, I... I've only just remembered... I promised to meet Christine after my final. I'll see you later this evening." Gilbert choked out the words. Then, without a second glance, he took off in the direction of home, oblivious to the whistles and lip smacks of his friends, who were clearly trying to tease him.

He knew everyone thought he was in love with Christine. That had been the general opinion for over a year. But Gilbert didn't mind. It kept them from realizing the true desires of his heart; for how could Gilbert still be in love with Anne Shirley when he was pining over Christine day and night?

How he arrived back at his boarding house, he did not know. But arrive he did, and as he continued to lay in his bed, reviewing Frank's announcement over and over again, hot tears began to stream down his cheeks. He felt so small—so helpless. He saw his future slipping away from him, even more-so than when Anne had rejected his proposals. He liked to think he was in control of his own fate, yet he realized now that he had never taken the time to imagine a future without Anne. He had always loved her, and still loved her, and he wanted desperately to believe that she loved him, too.

Maybe she _did _love him, and maybe she didn't; none of that mattered anymore. Roy would propose tomorrow, and Anne would accept him, and Gilbert's fate as a mere friend would be sealed for all eternity. He would forever be considered Anne's "old school chum." Whereas Roy… Roy would get to have her for his wife. Roy would get to watch her sleep, ever so peacefully. He would be the one to see her wake up, lift her long auburn lashes, and let out a yawn while stretching her soft, slender arms outwards, finally wiping the sleep from her eyes with her delicate fingers. He would get to take care of her when she was sick. He would watch the sparkles dancing in her eyes in times of joy, and hold her hand through loss and pain. He would get to father her children which, containing a mixture of his and Anne's features, would serve as a constant reminder that she had chosen him over Gilbert. Scenario after scenario ran through his mind—things that Gilbert had dreamed of his entire life, yet would never have. The thought of a life without Anne by his side terrified him to death.

Gilbert wanted nothing more than Anne's happiness. The problem was, Anne didn't look happy. He had thought she was—she certainly tried to make herself appear so, and that was why he had tried to let her go. But lately, as term began to draw to a close, he had begun to see through her ruse. She seemed to be tired of Roy, yet unwilling to admit it. Gilbert also couldn't help but notice that whenever he saw them together, Anne seemed distracted. He would often see Anne's gaze travel away from Roy, and to _him_. He wondered why this was; was she merely sorry for him, or was there another reason for her stare? There was something in the way she looked at Gilbert—some flicker that passed over her eyes... sometimes lingering, other times disappearing as quickly as it had come—that baffled him.

Yet he would never know the reason for her gaze; Roy would see to that tomorrow. And as these thoughts swirled through his head, threatening to suffocate him, Gilbert decided that it just couldn't be. He was meant to love Anne Shirley; he would love her all his life. Why would providence create such strong feelings in him, unless somehow she was meant to love him, too? She simply could not marry Roy Gardner, not when there was still _that_ gaze. As long as there was _that_ gaze, Gilbert would never be able to let her go. He realized in that moment that whether Anne accepted Roy or not, he needed—more than anything before—to know why she lowered those dainty red lashes for the slightest moment whenever his eyes locked with hers, while a faint hint of scarlet crept into her cheeks. And apart from it all, he needed _Anne_ to know, one last time, that the way he looked at _her_ had certainly never changed. If she chose Roy, so be it. But he needed her to know that she would always be _his_ first and only choice.

As Gilbert thought about this, he felt a burning heat begin to course throughout his veins. He welcomed with open arms the determination that began to envelop his very being. It gave him focus; it gave him resolve. He had to know the reason for her stare—he _had _to! For how could she not love him, yet look at him that way? But if she accepted Roy's proposals tomorrow, then he would never have the right to ask. Yes, tomorrow might be too late, but he still had today.

In one swift movement he grabbed his coat—he had never taken off his shoes—and swept down the stairs. He paid no heed to the words of those in the living room as he opened the front door and took off down the street, not even bothering to close it. The ominous black clouds above him threatened rain, but he didn't care. It was now or never. He had to go—now. He had to know just what that gaze meant, and he also had to make it clear that there was still another choice. But this time, he decided, would be the last time. He would make his final case. And if Anne resisted, no matter how hard it hurt, he would let her go—or at least spend his whole life trying.

* * *

><p><strong>And off we go, as Gilbert takes matters into his own hands. I hope you will come along for the ride; it will be exciting to say the least.<strong>

**I took the title from the song "Say Something" (by A Great Big World), which was the inspiration for this story. I was listening to the song and this idea just popped into my head. I can't believe what has bloomed up out of it. To me, the lyrics just seem like exactly what Gilbert would have said to Anne when she was on the point of becoming engaged to Roy, were he to speak from his heart. Maybe it's just me...**

**Katherine:** Thanks for the comment! I too am a fan of the semicolon, and yes, I _would _like to write about Gilbert in med-school. I was actually working on a little something when the idea for this story pushed it onto the back burner for a bit.

**Raindropcatcher: **I guess we will just have to take it upon ourselves to fill in the blanks during Anne and Gilbert's engagement :)


	2. Eyes

**Chapter 2: Eyes**

**T**

Anne Shirley sat in the living room of Patty's Place, her feet curled up under her as she appeared to be engrossed in a book. A merry fire was crackling away on the hearth, as Aunt Jamesina and Philippa chattered away about the latter's upcoming nuptials. The two china dogs on the mantle, Gog and Magog, looked watchfully over the cozy room as the glow from the fire illuminated their green and white porcelain coats.

"Jonas would have the wedding in the evening, as he is worried his Grandmother Myrtle will catch heat stroke, if the day turns very hot. But I've always dreamed of getting married at high noon, just as the church bells begin to chime," Phil was saying.

"You ought to respect your elders, Philippa," Aunt Jamesina replied with a tone of conceit. "It makes no difference what time of the day you are married. You'll be married just the same at 5 o'clock as you would at '_high noon_,'" whereafter she let out a small chuckle. And so the conversation continued.

Anne, however, looked on, oblivious to their conversation. Her book was not receiving the attention she had meant to give it, as she was thinking of many things—how satisfied she was to have finished her B.A. degree, and how fantastic it would feel to walk across the stage at Convocation tomorrow, and should she wear her green muslin or her blue organdy dress, and should she wear her hair entirely up or leave half of it down, and how would the Convocation Ball be decorated, and had they happened to find any Lilies-of-the-Valley to adorn the tables, and how she hoped Davy would come to pick her up from the train station when she returned to Avonlea, and how she longed to see the congratulatory smiles on Marilla's face, and would she accept the position at Summerside High School next year?

At this particular question, Anne's thoughts wandered in another direction. Her decision on whether or not to take up the principalship at Summerside depended entirely on whether or not she accepted Roy's future proposals. Anne had no doubt that he would propose, and that he would do it soon. It was a sort of Redmond tradition to propose on the day of Convocation; all the hopes and dreams of couples who were finally free to start out on their lives together could now be brought to fulfillment. And besides her gut telling her that the proposal would soon happen, she had heard rumors of his intentions from more than once source. One thing was certain: Roy Gardner would propose to her, and it would probably be tomorrow.

Anne tried to look upon the event with joy. After all, she loved Roy, didn't she? And if you love someone, you should be more than happy to spend the rest of your life with them, right? Yet for some reason, when Anne imagined Roy pouring out his heart to her, taking her hand, kneeling down and looking up at her with those melancholy eyes of his, she didn't feel—well—anything. Granted, past experiences had taught her that proposals may not necessarily be the magical, romantic occurrences that she had always imagined them to be. She had had four men propose to her within the past few years of her life, and her memories regarding each of them were quite unpleasant.

The most unpleasant proposal of all had been, of course, that of Gilbert Blythe. What great chums they had been before he had to open his mouth and ruin everything! And why had refusing him upset her so? Surely it was simply because of the loss of his friendship, which must inevitably follow such a speech. Oh how she longed for his presence right now! Her mind was confused, and he was always the one she felt she could talk to about any matter, no matter how trivial.

Roy, however, didn't possess Gilbert's skills of listening and empathy. Yes, he was romantic, and enjoyed her poems about fallen logs, and snow-covered trees, and butterflies dancing in the wind. But when it came to Anne herself, and her innermost complexities, Roy was often lost. He would listen, but he would not understand—not _really._

However, despite Roy's shortcomings, Anne was fully prepared to accept his proposals. How could she not, when he was the tall, dark, distinguished man that she had always dreamt of, with inscrutable eyes and a rhythmic, entrancing voice? He fit her childhood description of a husband to a tee. How could she refuse him now? And after all, no man was perfect, right?

It was at that point that Anne's thoughts lingered on the kiss they had shared, only two weeks ago, during Betty Martin's walking party. As they turned about the wooded path along the harbor, where the entire party had since passed, they had found themselves alone. Roy, upon finding a small brook that was bubbling softly a few meters away, had led Anne to its bank. And there, after she had finished admiring its beauty, he had kissed her. As his lips met hers, she had closed her eyes and waited for the feeling she had always dreamt of—the feeling of floating, out of her body and up over the trees, to rest on a far-off cloud... the feeling of butterflies in her stomach as she quivered at his touch. And yet, that feeling didn't come. She moved her lips methodically, returning what she judged to be equal passion and feeling. _'If this is all that kissing is,' _she had thought,_ 'I don't know why they make such a big deal out of it in novels.'_ When they finally separated she had given a forced laugh, in order to cover for the awkward feeling his touch had left her with. She had walked the rest of the way, side by side with Roy, yet wishing she could pull away and be alone. And when he leaned in as he left her at the door to Patty's Place that night, she had turned her face to present him with her cheek; Roy hadn't tried to kiss her again since.

Anne shifted in her chair as the remembrance of that day passed through her mind. Well, so what if romance wasn't all she had expected it to be? So what if there were no butterflies? So what if there was no passion? Perhaps that was all just stuff and nonsense, contained solely within the pages of the novels she had once read. The fact was, Roy was her ideal, and there was no reason why she should pass him up in the hope that something better would come along. Her thoughts then turned to determining how she should phrase her acceptance. She was mulling over just what her exact response would be when a sharp knock at the door startled her.

Phil and Aunt Jamesina looked up, expectantly. "I'll answer it," sighed Anne, leaving her comfortable seat and reaching for the brass doorknob. She twisted the handle and pulled the door open. Standing on the other side was none other than Gilbert Blythe, sporting a pallid face and a puzzling expression. It was all Anne could do not to gasp as she looked upon him. He hadn't come around Patty's Place in some months, and she had avoided him whenever she saw him walking the halls of Redmond. His appearance now startled her. His skin had adopted a pale, sickly expression. The brightness that usually shone through his eyes was absent from his countenance. The merry, contented, lively Gilbert she had always known seemed to have faded, and had since been replaced by a cold, somber stranger.

"Hello, Gilbert," Anne said, forcing a smile. "Whatever brings you here today?" Gilbert shifted from one foot to the other. Over the entire journey from his house to Anne's, he hadn't even thought about what he would say to her upon his arrival.

"I need to talk to you," he said abruptly.

"Alright then," Anne replied, wondering what on earth Gilbert Blythe could be on her doorstep for when he ought to be out celebrating with friends. "Whatever is on your mind?"

Gilbert glanced apprehensively at Phil and Aunt Jamesina, who were making no attempt to hide their curiosity at this rather awkward exchange. "Can we, er, go outside?" He motioned over his shoulder. Anne looked outwards and beheld the ever-graying expanse of cloud above.

"It looks like it's going to start pouring any minute, Gilbert. Can't we just talk inside?" she asked. Gilbert knew he didn't want to have this conversation inside. Not when Aunt Jamesina and Philippa were present. Not so near to the very garden where he had been so wholly rejected the first time. He looked up into Anne's eyes.

"Please," he begged, his voice barely a whisper.

Anne gave a quick glance behind her, then grabbed her coat off of the stand and followed him across the doorstep. They walked silently for a while, as neither dared to speak a word. Anne was bewildered as to what was happening. She was clueless as to why Gilbert so urgently and privately needed to speak to her. She briefly wondered if all was well in Avonlea. After a few minutes, in which no sound could be heard except a faint rumble of thunder overhead, they found themselves in the heart of the park, which Patty's Place bordered. Suddenly Gilbert, who had been walking a few strides ahead of Anne, halted and turned to face her. He opened his mouth to speak, and then promptly shut it. He opened it again, only to shut it once more. Anne simply stared.

"Anne, you… you… can't," he stuttered, clearing his throat. "You can't… you…" his words failed him.

"I can't _what_, Gilbert?" Anne was completely and utterly baffled.

"You can't… marry him." The moment the words escaped Gilbert's mouth, a distressed look crossed his face, as if he immediately wished he hadn't said them. Anne gaped at him. "Roy," Gilbert continued, "You can't marry Roy."

Anne's cheeks flushed upon hearing Gilbert's words. She listened to them without comprehending. Who was Gilbert to tell her who she could and could not marry? Her all-too-familiar temper welled up inside of her and anger tinged her voice.

"And why ever not, _Gilbert_? Why does it matter to you, anyway?"

Gilbert looked at her incredulously. It mattered more than anything—after all this time, could she really not know? He searched for words but his brain seemed to fail him. He obviously hadn't thought this through.

"Because… because…"

"Because _why_, Gilbert?" Anne demanded. She was losing her patience.

"Because…" Gilbert began to panic. He contemplated running away, or perhaps it would be better if the ground would simply open and swallow him up. Maybe this whole idea was stupid. Just as he was about to despair, he recollected the feeling of determination that had welled up inside him back in his bedroom, as he had seen his future with Anne slipping through his fingertips once and for all. His eyebrows narrowed as he gathered himself. His resolve hardened, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

"BECAUSE HE ISN'T RIGHT FOR YOU!" he cried.

Anne couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her anger at Gilbert now threatened to boil over. But _why_ did his words bother her so? Who cared what other people thought? Although Anne wouldn't admit it to herself, a small part of her wondered if his words weren't the echo of the very thought which had been nagging at the deepest part of her soul. Confused and frightened, she spoke the only words she could think of. "_Excuse me?" s_he challenged, fury welling up inside her.

"Well, it's true! Isn't it?"

"According to who?"

"According to ME, that's who!" Gilbert stared at Anne, wide-eyed. As he said the words, a rumble of thunder shook the sky, and drops of rain began to fall.

"Oh, well if that's all," Anne stated indifferently, attempting to sound cooler than she felt. In truth, she was distraught. Why was Gilbert Blythe so adamant in her not marrying Roy? Did he know some secret about Roy that she didn't? Or could it be that he still cared for her? She turned away, unwilling to look at him.

"He doesn't _understand _you," Gilbert spoke from behind her, his voice full of passion. Anne turned on the spot.

"Oh, and you do?" she spat.

"YES!" Gilbert shouted. "Finally, now we're getting somewhere!"

Anne wanted to cry. This was not how she had imagined the evening before Convocation going. And worse, this is not how she imagined her relationship with Gilbert going. She cared greatly for Gilbert, and always had, and their recent estrangement had hurt her terribly. She missed the playful expression in his eyes, and the mischievous grin that crossed his face whenever he had thought of a new and clever plan. She missed their conversations, about big somethings and little nothings. She missed the looks they would swap in the midst of others, sharing some private joke that only the two of them understood. They had enjoyed a closeness that many people envied them for. But that had all come to an end two years ago, when he proposed to her back in the garden of Patty's Place. Whatever they had once shared, it was gone. It was his fault, and that angered her. With great pain in her expression, and heedless of the hurt it would cause him, she said the words that she knew would cut to his very bone.

"You know nothing about me, Gilbert Blythe."

It was pouring by now. Countless raindrops hit the canopy of trees above and then fell to the ground, showering the two figures standing below. Dim shafts of light broke through the trees at intervals throughout the abandoned park. Anne looked into Gilbert's face. A sorrowful expression had come over him; her statement had had its desired effect. Her words had hurt him terribly—those words which both of them knew weren't true. Regardless, Gilbert continued.

"But I do! Would you like to know what I know about you, Anne Shirley? I know that your hair is golden-red in the sunlight, yet it changes to a beautiful auburn when it's wet. I know that your eyes are a breathtaking shade of gray-green that is so captivating, it doesn't even seem real. I know that you have no clue how beautiful you are. I know that you touch the lives of everyone around you, prompting them to confide in you their innermost fears and desires, without even having to try to win them over. I know that you possess a natural spirit and enjoyment of life that many people, including myself, envy you for. I know that you are the first girl I ever felt the need to apologize to after teasing, and the only person that leaves me tongue-tied every single time we speak. I know that your favorite color is purple, but not just any purple—amethyst. I know you are afraid of ghosts, and that your favorite season is spring, because it reminds you of the day you came to Green Gables. But most of all I know, heart and soul, with every fiber of my being, that I love you. I love you!"

Anne stared at Gilbert, unable to move or speak. Her mind could hardly comprehend what was happening to her right now. It was all so simple, yet so complicated. Gilbert was renewing his feelings for her. All this time, when she thought he had been in love with Christine. When she had been so… no, _jealous_ wasn't the right word; maybe she had been jealous of Gilbert's friendship, but certainly not of Gilbert's love. Could it be that he really _wasn't _in love with Christine? Hadn't everyone said that their engagement was a given fact?

Anne continued to gaze blankly at Gilbert. The rain had soaked through his clothes, and they were now plastered mercilessly to his body; his skin glistened under the clear liquid. Beads of water were falling from the tips of his curly locks and down onto his anguished face. Anne had never seen Gilbert like this before, and couldn't help but admit that he looked uncompromisingly gorgeous. She cursed the very thought for entering her mind. And were those tears in his eyes, or was it just the rain?

"But, Christine…" she whispered. He stared at her, shocked.

"Christine!" Gilbert couldn't help but laugh. "How could you of all people have believed that I would ever be in love with Christine?"

"But I thought… everybody said…" Anne stammered.

"Christine is just a friend, Anne. I was only showing her around as a favor to her brother."

"Oh," was all Anne could manage to reply. The patter of rain on the soft earth was growing ever stronger. She was soaked through to the bone but she did not notice or care. They stayed there, staring at each other, for what seemed like several minutes. In that moment, a tension existed between them so strong, that she felt as if a steel cable were binding her to him. She was rooted on the spot, and would continue to stay there until he released her.

Anne quickly tried to get a grip around her thoughts. She loved Roy. _Roy,_ not Gilbert. Yet why had she felt so relieved when he claimed he had never loved Christine? Why would she care who Gilbert Blythe loved? _'You didn't want him…'_

A sudden vision crept into her mind of Gilbert, two years ago on the day she had rejected him. He stood in the orchard of Patty's Place, with pale face and lips, as if he had been whitewashed. The thought of it made her heart ache with grief at his agony. Except now, Gilbert's face faded from the vision and Roy's immediately took its place. If she rejected him... but no, she couldn't bear to see that expression on the face of yet another person she cared for. She couldn't do that to Roy, after she had encouraged him on for so long. And really, what did it matter, since she genuinely wanted to accept his hand? Gilbert's words were playing games with her head and confusing her thoughts.

"I... I can't," Anne said, almost as a question. "I'm so, so sorry Gil." Her voice cracked as she said his name. She hoped he couldn't see the tears that were beginning to trickle down her cheek; she hoped they mingled enough with the rain to fool even his discerning eyes. Her heart was breaking in two. She was losing him all over again. But instead of backing away, Gilbert stepped forward, determination on his face.

"You don't love him, Anne," he held her gaze unwaveringly; she fell captive under his stare.

"Yes, I do," she said, although now she felt rather unsure. Her head was dizzy as his words continued to scramble her senses.

"No, you don't. You _don't_," Gilbert took another step towards her, rain continuing to pour from his dark brown curls. Anne looked at him, bewildered. Her breath was coming in gasps.

"And what reason have you to believe that I don't love Roy?" she asked defensively, unknowingly hoping that he would answer not only for him, but for herself as well.

Gilbert took only a moment to supply a response; before he even had a moment to think, the purpose behind his visit formed effortlessly upon his lips. "Because you don't look at him the way you look at…" he dropped off his sentence at the last second. Anne gazed at him, her large gray eyes probing, urging him to finish his sentence; his hazel ones boring into her, as if he were searching for something.

"The way you look at me," he finished, his voice barely audible over the downpour.

Anne was left speechless. Did she really look at Gilbert differently than Roy, or had Gilbert just been reading too much into her expressions? She wanted so badly to be back at home; she couldn't handle this anymore. His presence was so overwhelming, the tension between them too great.

"Gil, please. I care for you... so much. And I always will! But I need you to understand that I'm going to marry Roy. Sure, it's not what I always expected love to be, but then again what is? Life never turns out the way we expect it. And yes, my love for him feels different—more calm and subtle—not like the passionate tales of romance I've read of in so many stories. But life isn't a storybook, Gilbert, it's the real thing. And I've made my choice."

Anne felt a sense of justification in saying those words. Indeed, this wasn't some story come to life from pen and paper—surely that was why she was questioning the potency of her feelings for Roy. Gilbert, on the other hand, took Anne's speech very differently. He heard her words and knew, he _knew_, that she was not describing love. She was describing fondness, like she might hold for a mere friend. It saddened him—that Anne, whose eyes had always been brimming over with hopes and dreams, and the promise of adventure, would settle for mere fondness; that she would be content to be swept up into a society in which she would always be undervalued, always looked down upon—for Royal Gardner was from a line that cared very much about breeding. Nevertheless, she had made her decision. She had rejected him for all eternity. It was time.

"Then I'm giving up on you," he said bleakly, "but only because you asked me to."

"Oh Gil, I never…"

"But you did, Anne. You did."

Gilbert turned around to leave, before turning back abruptly. "I would have followed you, Anne, to the very ends of the earth."

_'I know,'_ Anne thought.

With that he turned around again, preparing to walk through the pouring rain, to heaven knows where. He would wander until his feet could carry him no more. Oh, how symbolic this storm was of the state of his life in this very minute! But after taking mere steps, he turned to face Anne once more. He had to look into those gray-green eyes one last time. And then, as his gaze locked with hers, there it was; even the blanket of rain that separated them could not hide _that look_. Those lashes faltered only a moment, and then she looked at him with eyes so soft, yet intent. A flame burned behind them not of hatred, but of something else entirely.

But what was it? He was captivated to his very soul, and his legs moved of their own accord as he closed the distance between them with three long strides. His face was mere inches from hers as he stared at her keenly, and he could feel her hot breath on his skin. Heat seemed to radiate through her, but not of temperature; this was a deeper, different sort of heat. There she stood, her hair auburn in the soaking rain, the beauty of her face somehow magnified by the effect of the water on her skin. The rain could not hide the tears that were spilling down her face. And maybe she had denied him with her words, but those eyes were beckoning him towards her. She did not flinch away from him, but rather she leaned just the slightest bit forward; her body seemed to be willing him closer and closer to herself. He quietly lifted a hand to her cheek and tenderly stroked the soft spot below her ear with his thumb.

"There's just one more thing I have to do, Anne," Gilbert heard himself say.

She merely stared back at him, waiting for him to continue. And still those eyes spoke more loudly than any words could. A flash of fire overcame them; his own eyes answered, and suddenly he drew his hand around her neck and pulled her forward, passionately meeting her lips with his. He didn't stop. He continued to kiss her, wrapping her thin body with his other arm and pulling her close, expecting her to throw him off of her any minute. But Anne did not push Gilbert away; she allowed him to continue kissing her. Was it just Gilbert, or were her lips moving as well? Could it be that she was leaning into his body in the same way that he was leaning into hers? Did he just hear her give a small sigh? Years of pent up desire poured out of him as he moved his lips against hers. The taste of her, mixed with both the rain drops and the tears that were pouring down her face, was intoxicating. The feel of her drenched auburn hair as it intermingled with his fingers was heavenly. He treasured every second, knowing that this would be the one and only kiss he would ever give Anne Shirley, and wanting to make it a good one.

Finally, it was Anne who pulled away. She stumbled backwards as they stared at each other, panting. He could hear her breath coming in sharp gasps. Her cheeks were flushed despite the cold weather, and her face wore a bewildered expression. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking in that moment. After a long pause, Gilbert looked deep into her eyes and said, "You deserve passion, Anne." A look of perplexity flickered across her eyes, yet she said nothing. She did not turn around, but neither did she approach him again. It was clear that his kiss had rattled her to her very bones; it had caused a state of turmoil inside her sensitive soul. Gilbert continued, "Now say that kiss meant nothing to you, and I'll walk away right now." Still, Anne did not respond. "Say it, and I'll leave, and never bother you again."

Gilbert simply stood there, waiting. He had played his hand, and would wait to let her speak. He had handed her the hammer, to pound the last nail into the coffin of their relationship. Yet a minute passed and still Anne did not respond. She had opened her mouth several times, only to shut it again. Perhaps she just couldn't find words that were hurtful enough to express her anger at the impropriety of his actions. Perhaps she had already let him down in so many ways that she lacked the ability to phrase it in yet another shape. Perhaps he had broken her, and she could not speak until she repaired herself. Gilbert was a patient man, but he couldn't stand it any longer. The silence continued, relieved only by the sound of water colliding with earth.

"Say something, Anne."


	3. The Veil Removed

So_ now we come to it. Let's backtrack just a tad so we can get a bit of Anne's perspective._

**Chapter 3: The Veil Removed**

**T**

"I would have followed you, Anne, to the very ends of the earth."

His words traveled through her ears and resonated inside the deepest recesses of her heart. She knew they were true. She knew it like she knew the sun rises in the east, like she knew the earth was round. Why did things have to end this way? And why did she despise herself in this very moment? Why did she feel like this was somehow, actually, all _her_ fault?

Anne watched Gilbert through the sheet of rain that fell from the forested canopy above. The park was slightly dimmer now than it had been when they first arrived. Small puddles had formed in the places where the ground dipped down lowest. Gilbert took one last look at her and began to turn away. She wondered how many years would pass before she would look upon his face again, once Convocation was over and they were free to go their separate ways. She had rejected him for the final time. A life without Gilbert stretched out before her, black and empty, and she felt she could hardly bear it. Her very being writhed with an inexpiable pain, as if the cells of her body were giving up on her—were dying in a million tiny bursts of agony. She wanted so desperately for him to turn around. She didn't know why, but she needed him to look at her again—to bestow the look of devotion and unconditional love that she had so foolishly come to take for granted. But it was too late; he had begun moving in the other direction, and this time it was not Gilbert's face and eyes that turned pale, but hers.

Then suddenly, as if he could hear her thoughts, he had turned around once more. His eyes had locked with hers and she had stared at them keenly, imprinting their exact shape and color into her memory, along with that look—_that look_ that had never changed after all these years. And before she knew it he was standing before her, those eyes still looking intently, resolutely, into hers. He was so close now, closer than he had ever been before. She could make out each individual eyelash on his lids; could see the faint stubble on the sides of his face—the traces of sideburns that were growing in his neglect. She was breathing in the same air that he had just exhaled. She stood, rooted on the spot, as if his very presence were magnetic, drawing her ever-closer to him. Her breath caught within her as he carefully lifted his hand to her cheek; the soft skin under her ear seemed to burn where he stroked it gently.

"There's just one more thing I have to do, Anne," he said, ever so gently. Anne should have realized what he meant; a passive observer would have discerned his intentions immediately. Yet every convention of normal human interaction was lost to her when it came to Gilbert. He was the exception to every rule. Speechless, she stared up into his eyes, entranced by each and every perfect strand of hazel contained there. And then something came over them—they narrowed slightly, before growing wide.

In that moment Gilbert opened his lips, yet it wasn't to speak. He offered his explanation in a far different way. His face was coming even closer, and before Anne realized what he was doing, he had pulled her lips into his own. Her insides exploded with emotion—but of hatred or desire, she did not know. She had expected him to pull away now, but he only wrapped her up and drew her cold, wet body to his own. A voice inside her head urged her to put an end to this absurdity. She tried to pull away from him but her body was unwilling. She was numb to propriety and sense as she helplessly submitted to his touch, the voice of resistance inside her head growing more and more feeble before falling silent entirely. She was kissing him back, drinking in the feel of his lips and his body. It was as if she had drifted outside of herself and was looking down at their intertwined figures from the stormy skies above. Yet somehow, at the same time, she was acutely aware of every element or her body—from the blood pumping forcefully through her veins to each individual beat of her pounding heart. Her stomach quivered, as if hundreds of tiny wings were fluttering inside of it. She tingled helplessly from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers and toes, and goosebumps erupted up and down her arms. She was lost to time and space as Gilbert Blythe kissed her as she had always dreamt of being kissed.

At long last she mustered up the strength to tear herself from him. They separated, Anne panting heavily, choking as she sucked in large breaths of air. She wiped several strands of soaking wet hair from her face. She felt stunned, shocked, dazed, wonderstruck. She realized how scandalously improper it had been to allow Gilbert to kiss her, yet she was incapable of producing feelings of regret; it was clear by the look in his eyes that _he_ certainly felt no such sentiment. She was feeling so many things that she couldn't separate one emotion from the other. Her thoughts were scattered and confused. She continued to simply gape at him, unable to produce any form of speech.

She was despicable. Gilbert Blythe had kissed her and she hadn't even tried to stop him. In fact, it was worse than that. What bothered Anne above all else was the irrefutable fact that she had kissed him back. She couldn't deny that there had been something real there; if there wasn't she would have thrown him off of her without a second thought. She stopped and reminded herself that Roy was the one she loved, or did she? In that moment, Anne thought that perhaps she didn't know anything at all. She wished she could run away, but her waterlogged feet were rooted to the ground as if they were made of lead.

"You deserve passion, Anne," he said.

The words echoed in her brain, and heart, and soul. _Passion._ She had long-since abandoned her belief in any such thing. Passion had been a myth contained only in story. Yet at Gilbert's words, Anne realized that she had been wrong. Finally, for the first time in her life, she knew what passion was. It was as if a veil that had forever clouded her eyes had finally been drawn back. Passion was not the calm, careful, complaisant love she felt for Roy. It was not contained in the perfectly written sonnets filled with metaphor and allegory that he often sent her, or in the forced laughter and calculated statements she found herself bestowing upon him during their conversations. No, Roy and passion had nothing in common.

Passion was a boy pulling the hair of a girl, just to see her eyes lock with his. It was in the overwhelming fury that had welled up within her on the day that he had called her "carrots." It was in the slate she had broken over his head. It was in the heated rivalry that they had shared during their school days; Anne pouring herself into her studies because of him and him alone. She saw it in his desperation to gain her friendship, and in her equally adamant refusal of it. Passion was a five-year grudge. It was in her mortification upon him finding her, soaking wet and clinging desperately to the pole of a wooden bridge, and in the way that she hated how he had rescued her. Passion was a young man—whom she had spurned during their entire acquaintance—giving up his job in order that she might take it. It showed itself in the way she had hated to see Josie Pye on his arm, and the way she clung adoringly to Roy's whenever he was nearby. It was in the tears she had cried on the night she had rejected his proposals, and the way she had always hated sweet, lovely, beautiful Christine. Passion was Gilbert's kiss, not polite or reserved, but forceful and unabashed and all-consuming. It was in the way her flesh burned red-hot as he touched her, and in the way that everything else had seemed to fade away when his lips locked with hers. But what Anne now knew most of all was that you can't create passion; it has to be born of itself.

As a whirlwind of potent emotion and new-found knowledge swirled through Anne, Gilbert Blythe continued to stand before her, rain falling all around, gazing at her with a look of desperation in his hazel eyes. For the first time, Anne realized just how beautiful and captivating they were. She had always known Gilbert was handsome, but she had never before realized just _how_ handsome. The way his wet curls fell about his forehead was equally entrancing as the way the tiny droplets fell from them and pattered against his face. It was he who spoke next.

"Now say that kiss meant nothing to you, and I'll walk away right now." She took a moment to take in his words, her brain moving rather slowly. Of course it meant something to her. But _what_ did it mean? Sure, there was passion. But did that translate to love? Could it really be that she loved Gilbert Blythe—had loved him ever since their unfortunate first encounter all those years ago? The idea of it left her senseless.

"Say it," Gilbert continued, interrupting her thoughts, "and I'll leave, and never bother you again." Gilbert Blythe, never bother her again? Once more she was forced to imagine a future without Gilbert, without his jokes, clever ideas, and witty discussions. Without his bright eyes, and his curly brown hair, and the whimsical expressions that often danced around his face. Her memory flashed back to something Philippa said, on the night Gilbert had proposed. _"My world has tumbled into pieces. I want to reconstruct it," _Anne had told her. _"Without any Gilbert in it?" _had been Phil's reply.* Those words rang in her ears once again, echoing mercilessly throughout her mind. Anne had lived the past two years without any Gilbert, and it had been extremely hard to bear. Never bother her again... no, it just could not be. She wanted him to bother her, each and every day, for as long as she lived.

This was all too much, too fast. Her head was pounding—never before had it been filled with so many emotions, and it was beginning to be too much to bear. Gilbert's presence was bewitching and she could not stand it another moment.

"Say something, Anne." His eyes were desperate and pleading.

She needed to speak; to explain how she was feeling. Yet how could she explain the sentiments that even she could not understand? Roy lay forgotten as Anne desperately searched for words—any words at all.

"I can't," she finally said. Gilbert's face sank along with his heart. Slowly, wordlessly, he turned away.

"I can't…" she repeated, more loudly this time, "tell you that it didn't mean anything." Gilbert stopped and slowly turned around. His eyebrows were arched and he looked confused. He wasn't understanding her meaning. Anne took a deep breath and continued, "Because it did mean something, Gil."

A look of hope and expectancy passed over Gilbert's face. He gazed at her, his eyes begging her to continue. Anne swallowed. Everything had become so complicated. This was all happening so fast. The past eleven years of her life had been suddenly thrown into a new light, and she needed time to process it. As his eyes probed her to elaborate upon her previous statement, she felt she didn't quite know how.

"I need… I need some time, Gilbert, please," Anne pleaded. She took a step backward. She could see the fear that came over his eyes—fear that if she turned around, and left him there, it would be as if this encounter had never happened... fear that if he allowed her to leave, he would lose her forever.

"Don't," Gilbert choked, grabbing her hand in an effort to keep her there. "If it really did mean something, don't leave. If you leave now, if you don't face your feelings…"

The anguished look in his eyes was agonizing, the strain between them unbearable; everything was torture. Anne's breath had failed her and she felt as if she might suffocate. "Gil, I promise, I _will_ face it. I will explain, please believe me. But I can't think my own thoughts right now, not while you…" she stopped mid-sentence. She couldn't allow him the satisfaction of knowing that his presence held the power to cause such chaos within her.

"Just not yet. I don't want to say the wrong thing. Please, Gilbert." And with one last look at his rain-washed figure, she fled, back down the path from which they had come, her destination unknown to either of them. If she had turned around, she would have seen a very confused Gilbert sink down to his knees, holding his face upward to the heavens, eyes shut tightly, in the hopes that the rain might cleanse him of all feeling and memory—even if for only one, splendid moment.

When Gilbert arrived back at his boarding house, he was pleased to find it deserted. The walk home had calmed his senses a bit, and he was finally aware of just how wet and cold he was. He ascended the stairs to his room, and with pruned fingers he peeled the wet clothes from his body, drying himself with a cotton towel. As he redressed, he experienced the great satisfaction of the touch of dry clothes, which one always feels after wearing soaking ones for hours. Now changed and warm, Gilbert was able to think more clearly. He decided he believed Anne, when she had told him she would offer an explanation soon. He had never known Anne Shirley to break a promise. Yet he could not deny that he was afraid of what her explanation would be. Perhaps she would wake up tomorrow morning, and decide that his kiss had really meant nothing to her—that it had only been another product of her vivid imagination. Perhaps she would mistake the entire encounter for a dream. Whatever her response might be, Gilbert could only wait.

As he sat alone in the living room next to a softly crackling fire, replaying that kiss over and over in his mind, he knew that he had been right all along; there truly was a reason for her stare. He had felt it so plainly when his lips met with hers. He only hoped that she had realized it, too. After what had passed between them that day, how could she deny that there was in fact a bond greater than friendship between them? Yet she _couldn't_ deny it—she had said it herself. At least now, Anne felt the need to think. At least now he held a small chance of winning her heart, or so he hoped. Gilbert tossed and turned in bed that night, thinking over these things, and waiting anxiously for the arrival of tomorrow; though whether it would bring joy or pain, he knew not.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to all who have commented so far!<br>**

**GoDons: **I appreciate the comment; I normally hate to change any details from the actual books (whether knowingly or unknowingly!). I had thought of that too, but since I had already decided to break away from Maud's storyline, I figured I might as well add it in for a little contrast ;)

**raindropcatcher**: I know, right! I know it wasn't really proper to kiss before engagement during that time, but I'd like to think Gilbert is the type of man who'd stop at nothing to get his girl… he just had to do it!

*See "Anne of the Island" Chapter XX: Gilbert Speaks


	4. Philippa Speaks

**Chapter 4: Philippa Speaks**

**K+**

As Anne arrived back at Patty's Place, panting and breathless, the rain had quieted to a mere drizzle. She hadn't particularly wanted to return home, but her wet clothes were starting to take their toll on her body. She was cold and shivering, and she needed to get warm. She dared not enter through the front door, lest Phil and Aunt Jamesina were still sitting by the hearth. She crept around the side of the house and entered quietly through the kitchen. The voices of the two women were ringing faintly through the hallway; they were still in the living room after all. Praying they would not see her, she slipped down the hall and turned up the stairs, entering her bedroom and shutting the door noiselessly behind her. She then changed out of her soaked dress, flung herself down upon her bed, and sobbed into her pillow. A soft knock upon the door informed her that Phil had indeed heard her return home.

"Anne," Phil said through the door, "Aunt Jamesina has just gone to prepare supper. Do come down and join us."

"No thank you," Anne called back, in as normal a voice as she could muster. "I'm not feeling well, I think I'll just lie down for a bit."

"Alright then," Phil replied, as she turned and walked back down the hall. The fact that Phil hadn't probed her further told Anne that she had not been fooled by her weak excuse. She could tell Anne merely wished to be left alone, and had graciously obliged.

Anne then continued to lie in bed, attempting to collect her thoughts. Could she really be in love with Gilbert Blythe? Was _love_ the reason for the magnetism—the passion—between them? An hour passed, and then another. Darkness had fallen outside the small house, and still Anne was no closer to discerning how she felt and what she should do about it. Just when she had decided a good night's rest might provide some much-needed clarity, she heard yet another knock at her door. She ignored it.

"Anne," came Phil's muffled voice, "Please let me come in, I have to know what happened. You are torturing me out here and I won't take it any longer."

"Phil, please," Anne pleaded.

"Nonsense," said Phil, her face appearing in a shaft of light which fell through the now-open door. "Something is clearly bothering you to no small degree, and it will do you some good to talk about it." With that Phil pushed her way into the room, alighting herself upon the foot of Anne's bed, her silky nut-brown hair bouncing upon her shoulders. She sat with crossed legs, her elbows on her knees and her chin resting atop both palms, eyes gazing at Anne expectantly. Phil had a way of imposing herself upon people with an air that was still somehow rather likeable. She knew when her imposition was required, even if the person being imposed upon did not know it themselves. It was one of the qualities Anne had always liked about her. Maybe it _would_ do her good to talk to Phil, and anyway it was clear she had no choice.

Anne sat up and stared at Phil through puffy, red eyes. "Oh, Phil!" she exclaimed. "I am in such a state."

"I can see that," Phil answered frankly, waiting for Anne to continue.

"It's Gilbert. He wanted to talk to me, so we went for a walk…"

"Also apparent," said Phil lazily, waiting for Anne to get to the essence of the matter.

Anne gulped, "And he, he told me I couldn't marry Roy. He told me he love… loves me." Anne stumbled upon the words as she said them. Phil did not look nearly as taken aback as Anne had expected. "Aren't you surprised?"

Phil shrugged. "Well, only a little. I mean, everybody has been saying he is in love with Christine Stuart, but I always wondered if perhaps she was just a consolation of sorts," Phil said knowingly. Then she smiled impishly. "I mean, why shouldn't he still love you? You're a goddess," she added with a wink. Anne wasn't sure if she liked the fact that Phil could be so blithe and candid during a time like this.

"Well, go on," she implored.

Anne swallowed again, figuring she might as well come out with it. "And then he… he kissed me," she blurted out. This time, her remark succeeded in evoking the desired response. Phil's eyes grew wide and she let out a gasp.

"He _kissed you!_" she cried, bewildered. "Well I never… he must have been really desperate, Anne."

"I haven't even told you the worst part," Anne moaned, anguish in her eyes. Phil simply stared at her, waiting. "Oh, Phil, I kissed him back!" A wave of amazement passed over Phil's features as she stared at Anne in awe. With that, Anne buried her face in her hands.

"He kissed me and I didn't try to stop him. I encouraged him!" Anne sobbed through her fingers, which continued to smother her face. She dared not look at Phil, but it felt good to voice her feelings aloud. The pressure inside her chest seemed to lessen, as the thoughts which had consumed her for the past few hours were finally out in the open. After a few moments, Phil had still said nothing, and Anne gathered the courage to look up at her. "I'm despicable, Phil. I am but an accomplice in a terrible crime against morality itself."

As she said this, Anne was surprised to see Phil's lips curl into a small smile. "Stop being so dramatic, Anne. You are _not_ despicable. And now that I think about this 'terrible crime' of yours, I can't say that I am entirely surprised."

"What?" gasped Anne.

"Well, I thought you were crazy for rejecting Gilbert when he proposed. I even told you so, if you'll remember." Anne did remember; Phil had made her feelings on the matter clear to Anne, back on that fateful day. She glared at Phil, now becoming annoyed with her knowing attitude.

"But we were just... friends. Just old chums who got along better than most. It would have been wrong of me to accept him!" Anne stated defensively, though she said it more to herself than to Phil.

"Oh Anne, you ninny. Was there ever anyone so thick? You loved him then, and you love him still," Phil said simply. "Surely you must see that _now._" Anne said nothing. Phil's words merely confirmed her own thoughts after Gilbert's kiss, and that bothered her. The two girls stared at each other. Realizing Anne did not plan on speaking, Phil continued, "Well, if you _won't _admit it, then tell me—did that kiss mean anything to you?" Anne thought for a moment. How could she explain to Phil what she had been unable to explain to Gilbert—what she could not explain to even herself?

"Yes," she replied meekly. "It did. And that bothers me, Phil. For the first time, I felt…" Anne dropped off, unable to finish her sentence. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

"Passion?" Phil stated meaningfully. Could she read Anne's thoughts? Anne nodded slowly. "Let me tell you something, Anne. It's a rare occasion that I say anything sensible, so you'd better listen carefully." Anne wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her chin upon them, looking up into Phil's eyes like a small child.

"We are not so different than you think, Anne. If you'll remember, I had my own ideals about what my Prince Charming would be like. And remember what a goose I was, trying to choose between Alec and Alonzo? But then I met Jonas, and any preconceived notions of romance I once held were thrown out the window. Let's speak honestly… we both know that Jonas isn't exactly the handsome stranger I had pictured in my mind—on the contrary, he's quite homely and awkward, if I do say so myself. But when I met him, I quickly realized that our ideals about who we are going to marry are _nothing_. They bear no semblance to real, genuine love. I wouldn't trade Jonas for all the men in the world, and looking back, I realize how silly I've been."

Phil's words _were_ sensible, and definitely true in her case. Anne did not know a living soul that would call Jonas handsome, yet Phil pined over him as if he were sent from heaven itself. Anne opened her mouth to speak, but Phil silenced her with a finger.

"Hold on just a minute, Anne, I'm not finished. Now I've said it before and I'll say it again if I have to, because friends tell each other what they need to hear. You've poisoned yourself with some silly idea of what romance should look like, and it's blinded you. You wouldn't know romance if it kissed you on the mouth. Sure, I like Roy, but he's as perfect for you as a pony is perfect for a Clydesdale. But Gilbert… you and Gilbert are _meant_ for each other. You can choose to deny it until the day you die, but I've never seen two people more perfect for each other than you are. Of _course_ you let Gilbert Blythe kiss you. And good thing he did! It seems as if it made you come to your senses, or at least partially! Be sensible, Anne, and don't throw away true love for some fleeting idea of romance. There," Phil said satisfactorily, clearly pleased with herself.

Anne had listened to her speech quietly, without interruption. She remained silent as Phil leaned back against the wall, clearly waiting for her to respond. Phil had always been one to speak her mind, which was another thing Anne liked about her. She wanted to protest, to tell Phil she was wrong about Gilbert, but she knew that her friend's words were true. It was as if Phil had given form to the thoughts which had consumed Anne's mind—to the feelings she had struggled in vain to understand.

"You really think so?" Anne said, a single tear sliding down her cheek, though why she was crying, she did not know. She sniffed as she continued, "You think we are… meant for each other?" Phil dismissed Anne's question with a wave of her hand.

"The real question is, do _you _think so?" she responded. "Because that's really all that matters."

Anne paused for a moment, then nodded, ever so slightly.

"Well then, we come to the crux of the matter. Are you in love with Gilbert Blythe, or are you not?" Phil asked. She knew Anne needed to come to terms with the subject, and she wasn't about to let her off the hook now. Anne contemplated Phil's question, although there really was no need. By now, she knew her answer. Finally, she knew what love was. She had thought she loved Roy, yet now she knew better. The word "love" didn't seem to properly describe the way she felt about Royal Gardner. She _liked_ him, yes. But she didn't _love_ him. She had wanted to love him from the day they met. But now Anne realized that maybe, just maybe, you love who you love, and you don't get to choose. Maybe love chooses you.

"Yes," Anne said, unable to suppress a smile. "Yes, I think I do." The moment she spoke the words, she knew they were truer than anything else she had ever said in her entire life. As she said them, it was as if a huge burden had been lifted from her soul. She imagined it floating up to the sky tied to a tiny white balloon. Phil beamed at her and leaned forward to pull her into a tight embrace.

"Well then," Phil said, "It seems as if we have _both_ said something sensible today. A job well done, I'd say." The two girls gazed at each other and simultaneously broke into fits of laughter. They grasped hands as they giggled and laughed like two small schoolgirls. Anne looked so genuinely happy that Phil could hardly stand it.

"Well then, when are you going to tell him?" Phil asked some minutes later, after their conversation had taken another turn. Her question surprised Anne. She hadn't thought this through yet.

"Tomorrow, I guess. It's too late to go out tonight. I suppose I'll go over in the morning, before Convocation."

"And Roy?" Phil questioned. Anne's expression soured.

"Oh, gosh," she said, "I've forgotten about poor Roy!"

"Well, it's easily done," Phil smirked, sending both girls into yet another fit of laughter.

"Don't be cruel, Philippa. Roy is a sweet, polite gentleman…" Phil elbowed Anne, causing her to end her sentence, and she buried her face in a pillow to hold off another torrent of giggles.

"Please, Anne Shirley. Now that we know your true feelings, let's not pretend he is anything to your Gilbert."

_Your Gilbert_. Anne decided that the words sounded absolutely musical.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks once again to all who have commented, and to those who have waited patiently for an update!<strong>

Katherine: Thanks for the advice and support :)


	5. The Dawn

**Chapter 5: The Dawn**

**K+**

When Anne Shirley awoke the next morning, the sun had not yet risen. Away in the east, the blackness of the sky had softened slightly, giving way to hues of deep blue. She knew not when she had fallen asleep, for she had lain awake for hours after first climbing into bed, despite her exhausted mind and body. There was so much to think about; she wondered how she had fallen asleep at all. Anne quietly lifted the bed sheets from her, then crossed to the window and knelt before it, staring up at the fading stars still sprinkled about the sky, imagining that each one was a tiny ship making its way through a vast sea.

Softly, she ran the fabric of the muslin curtains through her fingers, admiring the quiet way they rippled at her touch, as water flows in curved ribbons down a stream. A pale moon, not quite full, was beginning to set over the tops of the trees before her. As she gazed at it, she couldn't help but wonder if a certain someone was looking upon it too. Had his night been as sleepless as hers? Did he, too, find himself unable to remain in bed any longer? How terrible she felt for leaving him there, in the dim gloom of the park, to make his way alone back through the showers of rain that were still falling, and without being able to explain her feelings! Yet she had needed to get away, and the evening had served to clarify her thoughts. Her conversation with Phil had been just what she needed. How thankful she was for such a friend!

And so, just as the dust settles after a desert storm, so had the many feelings Anne experienced the previous day—some paling, others growing more pronounced. In the hours since she had admitted to Phil that she loved Gilbert, she had embraced the fact entirely. She saw the truth in the revelation she had made during their meeting the day before, about the bond they had shared over the past decade. There was a certain chemistry between her and Gilbert that had existed ever since the day they met. It was a type of gravity that one could never develop towards another at will, and so neither could it be cast away. It was a bond she would never share with Roy or anyone else.

Yet Gilbert Blythe did not yet know the way that Anne Shirley felt. Remembering this, she promptly dressed for the day, grabbed her coat, and set off towards his boarding house. The sun still had yet to make its appearance, although golden rays of light were beginning to prepare its way. A thin layer of morning mist swirled about the ground as she made her way through deserted streets. As she walked, she tried to prepare herself for the conversation ahead, thinking up clever speeches and rehearsing several carefully selected sentences.

As she arrived at the stone steps of Gilbert's boarding house, her cheeks flushed from the exercise of her walk, she realized she had no idea of what she should do now. The morning was still young; the sun was just beginning to peep over the horizon. It was too early to call upon the inhabitants of the house. Anne decided the best approach would be for her to throw a rock at Gilbert's window. She picked up a smooth stone from the ground and took a few paces back, counting the windows of the second floor. She had seen his bedroom only once, years ago when she had helped him carry a trunk of books up the stairs. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the upstairs landing, mentally counting the number of doors they had passed before they had reached his own. She guessed his window was the second from the right, but wasn't sure enough to toss the stone at it.

Just as she had begun to despair, the curtains of the room in question rustled, and a pale face appeared from between them, promptly disappearing. Moments later, the front door creaked open and Gilbert himself appeared. He shut the door softly behind him and crossed the porch, descending the stairs slowly, stopping on the last step. He looked tired; Anne guessed he had not slept well. The expression upon his face was new to her, and she did not understand it. She found it to be rather melancholy and apathetic, yet with a hint of expectancy as well.

"Hello, Gilbert," she said shyly, as if she were addressing a stranger. Gilbert merely nodded. His lack of an audible greeting caught her off her guard. Anne stood there, frozen, for several moments, before Gilbert finally spoke.

"I hoped you'd come," he said.

"I said I would."

Gilbert shuffled his feet and looked down at his shoes as he shoved his hands inside his pockets. When he finally looked up again, Anne peered intently into his face. As his eyes locked with hers, she felt her heart swell within her chest. It was as if she was looking upon him through new eyes, and she was filled with a desperate sense of longing. _"Your Gilbert," _Phil had said. Yet as he stood there, shoulders slouched and hands in his pockets, Anne distinctly felt that he was not _her Gilbert._ She wanted to touch him, yet she had no right. She remembered all the past times in which he had tried to become _her Gilbert, _yet the countless snubs and refusals on her end—the latest only hours before—had made sure that wasn't the case. Right now, with his cold, unfamiliar expression and reserved stature, Gilbert Blythe was closer to a stranger than he was to being _hers_.

Anne's eyes traveled down to Gilbert's lips, pale and smooth. Could it really be that only yesterday, those lips had touched her own—had intertwined with hers in such a lively, unrestrained dance? The thought of touching them now seemed positively scandalous. She then focused upon his fingers and hands, followed by his arms, and hips, and chest. As she took in each part of his body, she recalled the feel of it pressed against her, less than twenty-four hours ago. She longed to crush her own body against his once more; to mold into every single contour. Gilbert looked at her quizzically; a hot feeling flushed through her and she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor, embarrassed. So this was what it was like to want someone and not be able to have them. Her heart suddenly went out to Gilbert—how she had tortured him unknowingly in her years of folly and ignorance!

Gilbert merely continued to stare at her, clearly unwilling to be the first to speak again. It was _she_ who had called upon _him,_ after all. Anne tried and failed to remember the words she had rehearsed on her journey here. Why were these things always so much easier for the heroines in her books? Gilbert's reserve was disconcerting and she began to feel discouraged.

"Erm, how are you this morning?" she asked, unable to endure the silence any longer. As soon as the words left her mouth, Anne cursed herself inwardly. "_How are you?" _she thought,_ "Of all the idiotic forms of small talk!"_

Judging by the uncomfortable look that flashed across Gilbert's face, he clearly thought this was an unfair question as well. His response was, however, cool and uninterested. "Fine," was all he replied. "And you?" he added politely.

"Just fine, thank you," Anne said, attempting to muster an equal tone of indifference. This was going to be harder than she had thought.

"Storm stopped," he commented, nodding up at the sky.

"Yes, it did," Anne said stupidly. She didn't know what to make of his cold, aloof behavior. She wondered what she had expected of him upon her arrival. Whatever it was, it wasn't this. She contemplated bidding him goodbye and retreating back to Patty's Place, but knew it was impossible. A young lady didn't call upon a young man at an hour such as this, only to share a quick greeting. Gilbert would surely know her purpose was something greater.

After an awkward silence, she decided she might as well say what she came to say. "I'm sorry about yesterday," she said, "I shouldn't have left you. It was just... a lot to deal with." Anne felt small and weak as she spoke. Surely he wasn't ready to forgive her just yet; the look in his eyes told her that.

"It's alright, Anne," Gilbert replied quietly, "it's my fault anyway." Surprisingly, there was no anger in his voice. In fact, there wasn't really _anything_ in his voice. It was as if all the power had gone out of it.

"No, Gil, it wasn't—"

"Oh, stop, Anne. We both know it was my fault. I should never have kissed you. It was foolish and impertinent, and I'm sorry." Anne did not appreciate the sincerity in his tone. Did he truly regret it?

"Don't say that," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

"But I _am_ sorry, Anne." Gilbert's voice was tinged with self-reproach. Once again, he lowered his stare downwards and became unduly interested in his shoes.

"Well I'm not," Anne stated softly.

Gilbert's head shot upwards. He looked at her inquisitively, all traces of apathy disappearing from his face. "You're... you're not?"

"No, Gilbert, I'm not. I… there's something I need to tell you," Anne took a deep breath as she came to the point of her visit.

"I… love you, Gilbert Blythe. I've been so, so blind." Her voice cracked as the words tumbled out. Hot tears began to spill relentlessly down her cheeks. She gazed at Gilbert out of watery eyes, awaiting a response to her declaration, yet his face was impossible to read. Gilbert took his hands out of his pockets and stood up straight. Without a word, he descended the final porch step, making his way towards her cautiously. Gently, took one of her cold, trembling hands in his own. He stared at her with piercing, meaningful eyes.

"Say it again, Anne," he urged, as if he needed to hear it one more time in order to truly believe it.

Looking him right in the eyes, she submitted to his request. "I love you, Gil."

Gilbert inhaled sharply as he turned his head slightly to the side, looking away for a brief moment, before looking back at her, only to look away once more. He exhaled and gave out a short involuntarily whistle as he ran his hand once through his thick curly hair, while unable to hide the smile that was spreading across his face. It was as if someone had told him he had just been named king, and he was having trouble believing it. Anne tried hard to suppress a small giggle as she watched him. She had seen Gilbert Blythe in high spirits many times, yet this was far different from any look of happiness she had seen him wear before. It was a look of authentic, undeniable joy, and Anne relished the fact that she was the cause of it. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but this time it was he who was left speechless.

"And, Roy?" was all Gilbert could think to reply, his voice barely audible. Anne smiled and shook her head.

"It's not Roy that I love. It was never Roy that I loved. On the contrary, I'm afraid I have loved a certain dark haired, hazel-eyed, mischief making boy since I was eleven years old." Gilbert grinned as he placed his hands upon her shoulders, gazing directly into Anne's gray-green eyes.

"Oh Anne, I love you more than you could ever know." With that he pulled her into a powerful embrace, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pressing her firmly against him. Anne buried her face in his neck; tears were now spilling ceaselessly down her cheeks and soaking through Gilbert's shirt. Neither he nor Anne said a word for several minutes, as each was savoring the touch of the other. When they finally broke apart, Gilbert led Anne to the steps of the porch, where they sat gazing out at the street before them.

The sun had now progressed well into the sky, and morning was upon them in all its glory. It was the type of morning that one can only find after a storm. Pearly white patches of cloud were spread throughout the expanse above, alternating with snatches of clear blue sky, like a sort of celestial checkerboard. The sun's rays peaked down through the clouds, adorning them with a silvery lining. The effect upon the ground, created by the sunlight shining through scene above, was equally breathtaking. Anne and Gilbert sat together, not touching, though so close that each could feel the heat emanating from the skin of the other. After a long while, Gilbert pressed two fingers to the underside of Anne's chin, lifting her face upwards, in order to meet her gaze.

"Whatever made you change your mind about me, Anne?" Gilbert asked. Anne looked up at the sky as she considered his question, before looking back at him.

"Phil," was her sole reply.

"Phil?" Gilbert exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, Phil. It seems, although you may hardly believe it, that I have fallen captive to this powerful imagination of mine. I was drowning in a sea of my own delusions, and it was Phil who pulled me out."

"In other words," Gilbert said, all too knowingly, "I am not exactly the suitor you had dreamed up for yourself. Well, I am terribly sorry to disappoint you."

"No," admitted Anne, "you are not the suitor I had always imagined. You are far more presumptuous, and devious, and _irritating._" She elbowed him softly in the ribs. "But…" she continued, "I wouldn't have it any other way. I knew that, deep down. Phil only helped me to realize it."

"So the girl does possess some sense. Remind me to thank her."

His words hardly registered with Anne as she continued, "I don't know why I didn't see it until now. Perhaps the problem is that I loved you before I knew I _liked_ you. And so I was waiting for something—something I already had. And when I finally realized it, it seemed so obvious, my ignorance is _embarrassing._"

"Again, the infamous incident of the slate comes back to bite me," Gilbert mused. "If I hadn't succeeded so wonderfully in making you hate me from the moment we met, perhaps we could have avoided years of… misunderstanding." Gilbert had clearly searched hard for the appropriate word to end this sentence. Anne knew very well that the past years of their acquaintance had not contained a hint of misconception on Gilbert's part. No, his side of the story contained only dashed hopes, and rejection, and pain. The misunderstanding was all her own. At the thought of the pain she had dealt him time and time again, Anne grew rather uneasy, and so she changed the subject.

"Why were you so… reserved… when I arrived here? You seemed to be, well, withdrawn. You were so cold," Anne said, a tiny hint of discomfort in her voice.

"How couldn't I be?" Gilbert replied incredulously, as if the motive for his behavior was obvious. "Anne, I crossed the line yesterday. I unsettled you so much that you _fled. _At first, I repented not my behavior, but as the night wore on, I found myself overcome with shame." Gilbert looked at Anne out of eyes that burned with sincerity. "And even worse than my remorse was the fact that I _had _crossed the line—had resorted to the very last weapon I possessed—and yet still, I failed. Still, I had to watch you walk away. It was the worst feeling in the world. And this morning, I guess I had just resigned myself to the fact that you didn't love me… would never love me. I didn't mean to be cold to you. I guess I was just… protecting myself."

"But I came back, didn't I!" said Anne. "Surely you must have realized…"

"Oh gee, Anne, don't you get it? I have been chasing after you since I was thirteen years old. I've thought you loved me so many times, only to find out, over and over again, that I was wrong. Why was this time to be any different? Why would I consent to make a fool out of myself again?"

"But you were never wrong, Gil. You were never a fool; I was the fool," Anne replied, her eyes watery with a fresh round of tears. "I've been such an idiot. It's as if I never knew myself!"

Gilbert brought a thumb to Anne's face, wiping the tears away from one eye, then the next. "Stop spouting such nonsense, Anne Shirley. You are _not_ an idiot." Putting an arm around her, he pulled her against his side. Removing a strand of hair from the side of her face, he brought his lips close to her ear and whispered, "I love you, carrots."

His hot breath tickled her ear and sent shivers down her spine. He lingered there a moment, and the scent of him made her feel dizzy. She felt drunk on his mere presence; the way he said _"I love_ you," was absolutely intoxicating.

Anne and Gilbert remained on the porch steps, though now sitting a few feet apart, lest they give the awakening residents of the house something to gossip about. They talked for a long time, for there were many misunderstandings to be explained, many past exchanges to look over in a new light, many perspectives to compare of events both big and small. As they chatted and laughed together, the sun crept higher into the sky, and the street was soon filled with the sound of rattling buggies and the babble of human voices. It was when Gilbert mentioned Convocation that Anne was finally brought to her senses.

"Oh, Convocation! That's today… I had almost forgotten! I really should get going," she said. "I still need to get ready."

"I'll walk you home," Gilbert said.

"Nonsense," Anne replied. "You need to get yourself ready as well. We're short on time as it is."

Gilbert shrugged in agreement, disappointment apparent on his face. As Anne began to bid him goodbye, Gilbert suddenly snapped his fingers together and sprung lightly back up the stone steps. "Wait, I have something for you. I was planning on delivering it today, but plans change..." He disappeared back into the house. Anne remained outside, shuffling her feet.

When Gilbert returned, he carried the most beautiful bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley that Anne had ever seen. The flowers were in full bloom, and Anne admired their delicate white petals and slender green stalks. They were tied together with a silky ribbon, of a color that could only be described as amethyst. Anne gasped in amazement.

"Oh, Gilbert, they are stunning!" she remarked as she took them into her arms, deeply inhaling their sweet fragrance. Gilbert wore a look of great accomplishment. "But wherever did you get them? They don't grow anywhere near Redmond!"

Gilbert's face lit up in the mischievous grin that Anne had come to so admire. "I suppose you will never know," he said teasingly. Anne batted him softly with her bouquet.

"Thank you, Gilbert. It means a lot." Gilbert pulled her into a short hug before waving her goodbye and watching her make her way back down the street. Humming a jovial tune to himself, he turned and reentered the house. For the first time in months, Gilbert Blythe felt that it was going to be a good day.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks once again for reading. Don't fret! Our story doesn't end here. I've still got a few more tricks up my sleeve...<em>


	6. Gilbert's Due Reward

**Chapter 6: Gilbert's Due Reward  
><strong>

**K+**

When Anne entered the front door of Patty's Place, with a dazed expression and arms full of lilies, she immediately heard Phil's quick steps coming from the upstairs landing. She practically slid down the banister as she took the stairs two steps at a time and crossed over to Anne. She whisked the flowers from Anne's grasp and paraded them around the room.

"Well, I wonder who _these_ could be from?" Phil asked playfully. "I bet I know where you've been all morning."

"Give those back!" Anne cried as she chased Phil around the living room. Phil smiled wickedly as she danced around Anne in wide circles, flowers in hand, twirling around chairs and leaping over footstools. Shrieks of mirth rang through the house as the girls finally collided and fell to the floor in a tangled mess. They lay upon the wood floorboards, panting for air and gazing at the ceiling.

"Oh, Phil," Anne gasped through short breaths, "I am convinced I have never been truly happy in my entire life, until today. Not even when Marilla told me I could stay at Green Gables. I feel as if this all must be some wonderful dream." She looked at Phil out of dazed eyes. Marilla would have reproved her for such a theatrical speech. Phil's suspicions about Anne's morning activities confirmed, she responded by giving her arm a sharp pinch.

"Nope, not dreaming," Phil said with a giggle. "Well, Anne, if you are even half as happy with Gilbert as I am with Jonas, then you are likely the happiest girl in all of Canada." She beamed at Anne. "Except for me, of course," she added with a wink. Anne grinned as she sat up and leaned against the wall.

"I'll have you know that something's just arrived for you; it's in the kitchen. Although I doubt you'll be much interested in it _now_," Phil said.

Her curiosity piqued, Anne made her way to the kitchen to see this delivery for herself. There on the table was a long wooden box containing a neat bouquet of violets. Roy's card lay next to it. She discerned his curly, silvery letters upon it; it was clearly a sonnet of sorts. Anne knew he had meant for her to carry the bouquet to Convocation, but she had no intention of doing so. Roy's violets were nothing to Gilbert's lilies, just as the giver of the former could never measure up to the giver of the latter.

As Anne entered her room to dress for the ceremony, she spotted the midnight-blue dress she had carefully selected days before, and which she had lain upon the back of a wooden chair next to her wash stand. However, remembering a comment Gilbert had made during their early Redmond years about how lovely she looked in green, she promptly went to her wardrobe and selected another. As she lifted the silky sage-green fabric over her head and tied the sash around her waist, she turned to the mirror to examine her appearance. Everything was to her liking, except of course for the seven pesky freckles sitting stubbornly upon her otherwise perfect nose.

Stella soon entered the room to help Anne with her hair. She twisted it up into a delicate knot at the top of Anne's head, allowing two slender curls to hang about her face. Anne then inserted several pins, each carrying a silvery pearl at the end, and slipped a pair of ivory heels onto her delicate feet. Taking Gilbert's bouquet into her arms, Anne joined the other two girls in the living room. Talking animatedly of futures bright and hopeful, they set out together, making their way lazily across town.

They arrived at Redmond and went to join the other graduates who were pooling around the entrance to the hall. Those with last names beginning in A through M were to line up by the left entrance; those with names beginning in N through Z at the right one.

"Pity you can't stand with us," Phil said apologetically, as she kissed Anne on the cheek in farewell. "Well, the next time we see each other, we'll be B.A's!" The three girls shrieked and hugged each other before heading their separate ways. Anne didn't bother searching the crowd for Gilbert, or Roy for that matter; they would both be on the other side. It was probably better that way, she mused. Facing Roy would be difficult; she still cared greatly for him and hated that she must cause him pain. She wished she had talked to Roy before the ceremony, yet there was no time; she was now in for a very awkward hour. Besides, Roy had been greatly looking forward to Convocation and she couldn't spoil it for him.

Despite Anne's angst over the predicament she had found herself in, she reminded herself that today she was graduating college, and the feeling of glee within her could not be so easily diluted. After watching Phil and Stella disappear across the lawn, Anne turned around. Spotting Charlie Sloane and Clarence Taylor, she went to join them.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the building, Gilbert Blythe waited patiently, as usual, for the start of the Convocation ceremony. The wait was quite bearable, for he found multiple forms of amusement. Firstly, while talking casually with Frank Carlson, he had spotted Philippa Gordon, who was standing several yards away. She pointedly caught Glibert's eye and gave him a sly wink, followed by a "thumbs up."

"_Shhh,_" he mouthed at her across the lawn, glaring at her and placing a solitary finger in front of his lips, although unable to hide a smile. Phil smiled back as she shrugged and turned away. Gilbert was reminded of his overwhelming gratitude towards her. Although he had no idea what she had said to Anne the previous night, he knew he owed her greatly for it. He wondered how he had ever found her to be slightly annoying; Phil Gordon was an absolute gem.

His next form of amusement came when he had run into Roy Gardner, who happened to brush against him as he made his way over to some friends.

"Congratulations, Blythe," Roy said cordially. "I hear you've won the Cooper, that's great. Have you managed to have any fun amidst all that studying?"

Gilbert was surprised to discover his longing to tell Roy just _how_ _much_ fun he had had, only the day before. His lips immediately grew hot as he remembered the touch of Anne's pink, slender ones against them. His face colored slightly—it had been very improper of him to kiss Anne, especially when she had been courting someone else. Yet he could never regret it. How the tides had turned! Gilbert had been sick with jealousy of Roy for two years, and the thought that Roy would very soon be jealous of _him_ sent a strange tingle down his spine. He thought of a clever reply to Roy's question, and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"It's been a pretty trying couple of terms," Gilbert replied shrewdly, "Yet somehow I feel I'll be having a lot more fun this summer." He realized the cruelty of his remark, and wondered briefly what had come over him.

"That a boy," said Roy, slapping Gilbert on the back. "Well, see you inside," and with that he continued through the crowd.

Gilbert felt a bit bad for taking advantage of Roy's ignorance of recent events, yet not nearly bad enough. Gilbert's kind, unselfish personality normally prevented him from wishing harm upon others, but he found it difficult to feel _too_ sorry for Roy. He had never liked the fellow. Gilbert was forced to admit that wicked side of himself, which he usually kept locked safely away, found this strange predicament oddly diverting. He, Roy, and Anne were caught in a sort of strange limbo that unduly amused him—most likely because he, Gilbert, had the upper hand. Gilbert had suffered at the hand of Anne Shirley for many years; now he supposed it was his turn to have the last laugh. Perhaps it was his due reward for the angst he had undergone while Anne had been courting Roy. Either way, he decided it wouldn't be _too_ wicked to enjoy himself today, as long as he kept his thoughts private.

Just as Frank was commenting to Gilbert about how beautiful Christine Stuart looked as she had passed them to sit in the audience, music started playing from inside, and a series of cheers arose from the crowd of graduates. Gilbert queued up with the others at the double doors and soon followed Frank into the brightly lit room. He immediately scanned the line of students entering from the other side of the hall, searching for a certain red-haired maiden.

As he took his seat, he finally spotted her, walking behind Charlie and Clarence. Gilbert's jaw nearly dropped to the floor as he beheld her breathtaking appearance. She was wearing a green dress, his favorite color on her, and her slender ankles could be seen from just under the hem. From her ears dangled two gold pendant earrings, and around her neck, a pink heart hung from a gold chain. Gilbert felt his face color as he realized it was the gift he had given to her that past Christmas. He had never seen her wear it before. Its color did not exactly match her green dress; he knew she had worn it for another reason. But what pleased Gilbert most was the fact that in her arms resided his bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley. He would have thought the flowers rather beautiful, had they not been out-shined by the radiant angel carrying them.

As Anne made her way to her seat, she began to scan the crowd, apparently searching for someone. As her eyes traveled up and down the various rows, they finally locked with his. She grinned and waved covertly in his direction. Gilbert pointedly moved his eyes up and down, as if he were taking in her appearance, and then his lips formed the word, _"wow."_ Anne blushed heavily and mouthed, _"Stop that!"_ Gilbert laughed silently and then turned forward to face the president of Redmond, who had begun a regal speech.

Gilbert found himself unable to listen to a word the president said, as the scene around him was far too interesting. While continuing to gaze around the room, Gilbert had spotted Roy, sitting in the row in front of him. Roy was clearly staring in Anne's direction, and he wore a puzzled look upon his face. Anne stared straight ahead, determined not to meet Roy's gaze, instead giving off the appearance of being very enraptured with the president's speech. The flicker in her eyes and tint of scarlet in her cheeks, however, told Gilbert otherwise. Meanwhile, next to Anne, Charlie Sloane was slyly nudging his chair closer to hers. Sensing this, Anne shifted uneasily in her seat, sliding ever so slightly to the side. Between Roy and Charlie, poor Anne must be having a rough time, but Gilbert himself found the ceremony to be quite riveting.

When it came time to walk across the platform, Gilbert stood with the rest of the graduates as they walked in an organized line to the front of the room. Gilbert smiled widely as he strode across the stage. The president met him with a shake of the hand, along with his cap and diploma. Still grasping Gilbert's hand firmly, he announced to the crowd, "Gilbert Blythe, Bachelor of Arts, and winner of the Cooper Prize!" The entire hall erupted into cheers. Frank Carlson let out a loud whoop, and Clarence Taylor stuck his thumb and little finger into his mouth, producing a piercing whistle. Gilbert glanced at Anne who was clapping wildly.

As he descended the steps of the stage, he passed by Anne, slyly brushing his arm against hers in the process. Goosebumps broke out where his skin had touched hers, despite the fact that she had felt rather warm. "Great job, Gil," he heard her whisper under the noise of the crowd. As he reached his seat once again, Anne was now amongst those on the stage. Gilbert couldn't help but notice that Roy was on the other side. He leaned forward in his chair as he watched the exchange between them; Anne was finally forced to meet Roy's stare. She smiled at him sheepishly, as a look of apparent uneasiness came over her face. Roy, on the other hand, looked confused and hurt. Gilbert wondered if he had noticed Anne's aloof behavior. Then he saw Roy's eyes travel down to the bouquet in Anne's arms. _Of course._ Roy must have sent Anne flowers too, and been disturbed by the fact that she wasn't carrying them. Gilbert tried and failed to feel badly over Roy's disappointment.

Anne received her cap and diploma, then passed by Roy on her way off the stage, giving him a curt nod, along with a forced smile. Roy reached his hand out to touch hers; Anne gave a small start and her diploma fell to the floor. She picked it up hastily as she continued forward. Catching Gilbert's stare as she descended the steps, he distinctly saw her mouth the words, _"Help me!" _Gilbert flashed her a roughish grin, unable to keep himself from teasing her, even from across the room.

"What did Anne Shirley just mouth to you?" Frank asked, noticing the exchange.

"No idea," Gilbert replied innocently. Frank shrugged and turned away. Perhaps only kindred spirits could read each other's lips.

Anne Shirley did not find her Convocation experience as diverting as Gilbert did. As the ceremony ended, she shuffled back outside with the other graduates. The fresh afternoon air was refreshing after the humidity of the crowded hall. Oh, how horrid her interaction with Roy had been! She hoped her avoidance of him had gone unnoticed, but she feared that was not the case. She hadn't intended to avoid him, but she was so acutely aware that she was deceiving him that she couldn't bare to look him in the face. And then there were the flowers. Surely Roy had been offended that she carried Gilbert's bouquet instead of his, even if he didn't know who the giver of the lilies had been. And Gilbert—Gilbert had been enjoying himself immensely! With his roguish sense of humor, he must have absolutely delighted in their awkward exchange. She had seen him look upon Roy during the ceremony in a way that clearly said, "I know something you don't know." Well, let Gilbert have his fun. Anne had other problems to deal with.

"Anne!" someone yelled from behind her. She turned around to see Dorothy Gardner coming towards her. Beaming, Dorothy pulled her into an animated hug. "Congratulations, Anne! We are so proud of you! But of course none of us is more proud than Roy." Anne tried to hide a small wince as Dorothy mentioned her brother. How many people must she mislead today, before getting the chance to talk to him?

"Thank you, Dorothy. You are so sweet," Anne replied gently. The two girls were then approached by Aline Gardner, Roy's other sister.

"Well well, if it isn't Anne Shirley, B.A.," Aline said. "Well, l suppose the world can't afford for _all_ women to be housewives, I suppose _some_ of us will have to join the workforce. Well, you fit the part nicely…" Anne merely stared at her politely. "Congratulations," she added as an afterthought.

"Thank you, Aline. Your words are too kind," Anne replied, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"Wherever is Roy?" Dorothy questioned, turning around to look for him. "I'll go find him… perhaps he does not know where we are."

"I'll go with you," Aline insisted, and the two girls disappeared. Anne sighed as she watched them leave. She would have liked to have Dorothy for a sister, but she was not sad to be losing Aline. As she wound her way through the crowd to find Phil and Stella, a voice in her ear that was unmistakably Gilbert's made her jump in fright.

"Congratulations," he said. Anne whirled around to stare at him.

"Gilbert Blythe, you startled me half to death!" she said, feigning resentment.

"Is it just me, or was it a little hot in there?" Gilbert grinned mischievously.

"No thanks to you."

"You appeared to have been enjoying yourself," Gilbert continued, clearly trying to unsettle her.

"Immensely," Anne said sarcastically. "But not as much as you, I think."

"Oh, little old me?" Gilbert said innocently, "As a matter of fact I had a swell time. So many things to… observe." Anne's attempt to conceal her fury only made him chuckle loudly; when would she learn not to take things so heavily? And anyway, she was adorable when she was upset. Anne elbowed him squarely in the ribs.

"Now now, Miss Shirley. You wouldn't want to lose your temper. It hasn't served you well in the past." This time, his words hit their mark. Anne's fists clenched tightly and her face reddened. She ought to give him a piece of her mind. Yet somehow, his wicked behavior only made him appear more attractive. A rush of hotness flushed through her body, and she throbbed from the feel of it. Her eyes alit upon Gilbert's hair—at the soft locks peeking out from under his cap. How she longed to twist one of those curls around her finger… Realizing that Gilbert was now staring at her with an impish grin, and praying dearly that her thoughts had not been _completely_ transparent, she came back to her senses.

"You think you are so, funny, Gilbert Blythe, laughing at my expense," Anne said. "Well, I'll have you know that—"

"Calm down, Anne. This will all be over soon. Relax and enjoy the day."

"Relax! How do you expect me to relax, when—"

"Anne!" came Roy's voice from behind them. Gilbert grinned slightly at Anne as he silently mouthed "_relax, Anne-girl."_ He then took a step backwards.

_"Don't you dare leave me,"_ Anne replied to Gilbert under her breath, eyebrows narrowed and lips pursed, before turning around and greeting Roy.

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" Roy exclaimed, placing a hand upon the small of Anne's back, then sliding his arm through hers. Anne flinched ever so slightly at his touch. His intimacy made her feel very uncomfortable, and she also felt she didn't deserve it. She glanced over at Gilbert apologetically, although why she did not know, because he did not appear to be bothered in the least.

"Well, it looks like that's my cue to leave. You two have… fun. Congratulations, Gardner."

"Same to you, Blythe," Roy replied. Flashing Anne one last playful grin, Gilbert walked away. Anne was now alone with Roy; she looked for a rock to crawl under.

"Gilbert Blythe sure seems to be back to his old self," Roy remarked, "For a while there I thought the term was taking its toll on him." Anne blushed from head to toe.

"Oh, is he?" she replied as casually as possible, "I hadn't noticed."

"You looked beautiful today, darling," Roy said in a dreamy voice, heedless of her remark.

"Th.. thank you," Anne stuttered. "You also looked… quite handsome." If Roy noticed the uneasiness in her voice, he didn't show it. How uncomfortable this was!

"Say, what happened to the bouquet of violets I sent you? You weren't carrying them," Roy said with a frown. Anne had figured he would mention the flowers. She searched frantically for an excuse.

"Oh, yes, the violets. I _was _going to bring them, but Rusty drug them outside… the ground was quite muddy… they really weren't salvageable."

"Darned cat," Roy replied with a shrug, fooled by Anne's excuse. She felt bad for lying to him, but the truth would have begun a conversation she did not want to have here.

Anne then spent the next half hour being lead to and fro by Roy, who wanted to greet as many people as possible. Seeing Phil across the lawn, Anne rushed over to her, after assuring Roy she would return straightaway. Reaching Phil, she grabbed both of her hands and gave out a low moan.

"Oh Phil, this is _unendurable!_" she cried. "Roy has no idea, and I don't have the heart to tell him here… not while he's so happy. What have I ever done to deserve such torture?"

"Well, I can name a few things," Phil mused, giving Anne a smile. "Now calm down, it will all be over as soon as you talk to him. So just _do it,_" she urged. Anne gave Phil a despairing look.

"But it will hurt him so! Maybe tomorrow..."

"Anne, it will hurt him tomorrow just the same as it will hurt him today. It's really not fair of you to keep it from him, so just deal the blow. Besides, you _have_ to do it now. The graduation dance is tonight, remember? Do you want to have to spend the entire evening on Roy's arm? You'll feel _terrible,_ and I'll be the one who has to walk you home when you pretend to be sick."

"Oh Phil, must you speak such sense?" Anne complained.

"Now, just wait until he has finished his rounds, that should be any time now judging by the amount of people he's talked to, and tell him you want to go for a walk…"

"I know how to do it!" Anne interrupted.

Phil leaned in to give Anne a hug and whispered in her ear, "Prince Charming is watching us, you know."

Anne quickly glanced around and found Gilbert, hands in his pockets and leaning casually against a tree, whistling a tune to himself as Charlie chattered away about something. Seeing Anne glance at him, he raised his eyebrows twice and gave a wink. Philippa burst into a stream of laughter.

"Wow, he really does know how to lay it on thick. If I'm not mistaken, he seems to be rather enjoying this."

"Absolutely insufferable," Anne griped, sticking her tongue out at Gilbert. He returned the gesture.

"Well, aren't you two just like little children!" Phil exclaimed. "Now, Roy has turned around, dearie. Better get back to him." Glancing around and meeting Roy's gaze with a forced grin, Anne strode away from Phil.

"Well, this has been quite pleasant," Roy said. "Everyone is so perfectly happy, and full of hopes and dreams. It's positively poetic."

"Yes, positively," Anne replied flatly. "Are you ready to go, Roy? I was thinking we might take a walk, just the two of us."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," he replied. "The day is lovely; let's enjoy it together."

After sharing one last meaningful look with Phil, and shooting one last glare at Gilbert, Anne turned back to Roy and the two began to make their way across the lawn. As they passed through the campus exit, Roy gently fingered the small silver circlet in his pocket.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I hope you had as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it! Now, don't be too hard on our dear Gilbert for his playful wickedness... it's been 11 long years and he is finally able to have a laugh of his own. He's still human, after all...<br>_

_Raindropcatcher/Katherine: Your comments melted my heart, as always :)_

_Lilies: Alright then, if you insist!_


	7. How to Break a Heart

**Chapter 7: How To Break a Heart  
><strong>

**K+**

There were many things Anne Shirley liked about Royal Gardner. First, there was his tall, mysterious figure, his charming smile, and his eyes that were such a dark shade of blue, they appeared almost black. When she peered into them, they told her everything and nothing at the same time.

Second, she liked the way he could sing. He could hit every note, from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. He was not afraid to sing in front of others—which Anne herself was terrified to do. Entire rooms would fall silent whenever he began to serenade them with song.

Third, she liked the way he was in love with the tiniest details of nature. He would often comment to her about the shapes of the clouds, or the soft song he heard as the wind whistled through the trees. He did not laugh at her when she gave her favorite places names, and even helped her at it.

She also liked his neatness, from the way he tied his tie with the utmost care, to the way his shirts were always perfectly pressed. It showed in his perfectly organized shelves and the tidy notes he wrote during class. She saw it in the way he buttoned his coat, and poured tea, and turned the pages of his many books.

He was hard working and focused on his dreams, and genuinely tried to make Anne happy. Yes, there was much to like about Roy. The problem for Anne was that these were all the things she had tried to _love _about him. Roy was as "perfect" as if she had pulled him straight from the pages of one of her novels, and she had thought she loved him because logic told her she must.

Yet love does not run on logic, and as much as Roy appeared to be the very "hero of her dreams,"* he could not hold a candle to Gilbert Blythe. Anne preferred Gilbert's messy curls and playful grin, and their witty conversations, and the way he would counter her opinions just to see her eyes light up in rebuttal. She loved the way he teased her, yet immediately came to her defense lest someone else try to do the same. She loved the way he would always give her his rapt attention, no matter how trivial or nonsensical her words, for nothing she said could ever say would be too insignificant for Gilbert. But what she loved about him most of all was the way he made her laugh, which was something Roy did not do.

Now, understanding perfectly why she had been unable to love Roy, she wished so greatly that she could turn back time to the day they had met, and replace their romance with a blossoming friendship. She was terrified of telling him about Gilbert because she knew he would feel betrayed, and she knew that things were likely to end badly between them. It would be cruel to keep him close to her, while another person occupied the position in her life that he once held. And she would miss his friendship dearly. Perhaps that was the reason they had ambled through the streets of Kingsport for over an hour now, and still she was no closer to confessing the truth than she was when they began their walk. In a way, she knew this would be the last afternoon they spent together for quite some time, and the thought of that saddened her.

In addition to her sadness there was also shame, for she knew that she was deceiving Roy, and the longer they walked together, the angrier he would become when she _did_ tell him. He wouldn't appreciate her reluctance now. He would want to be told.

She walked by Roy's side as they aimlessly wandered farther and farther from the college, leaving behind the crowd of people still milling around campus after the ceremony. The afternoon was growing ever-warmer; it was hard to believe it had rained only the day before. An animated Roy talked to a pensive Anne, going over the events of the day.

"And if you consider the advantages of the violin over the viola, I'm really not surprised that they left them out of the orchestra. The sound which a viola makes is really too sad and mellow for a ceremony that is supposed to be lighthearted. I wrote a poem about the violin once, through the point of view of the instrument itself. I don't suppose I've ever showed it to you before?" Roy waited politely for a response and, realizing none was forthcoming, turned and glanced sideways. "Anne?" he said. Startled, Anne looked over at him.

"Oh, wa...what?"

"I said, have I ever shown it to you before?" Roy repeated calmly.

"Shown me what?"

Roy sighed, "Gee, Anne, are you even paying attention to a word I'm saying?" He was used to Anne getting caught up in her daydreams, but still he could not completely hide his annoyance.

Anne, in fact, had not been listening to Roy's words. She had been so overwhelmed with her thoughts about just _where_ and _when_ and _how_ to talk to him, that she had become lost to Roy himself. Roy, who was currently in such high-spirits, and was caught up in the gleeful feeling of having everything—youth and vibrancy, a diploma in his hand, a promising career ahead of him, and a girl who he thought was about to become his wife. To shatter the happy vision in front of her seemed such a terrible crime. How did you break someone's heart gently; easily? Was there even a way? Anne decided there was not.

Anne had turned down many men over the course of the past few years. First, there was Billy Andrews, although letting him down had been easy—he only had the courage to propose by proxy, and therefore it was by proxy that she refused him. Then, there was Charlie Sloane, whose blatant condescension and fiery temper had only infuriated her, and so turning him down had been easy as well. Her strangest proposal had been from Sam, the hired boy at Valley Road, although that had amused her more than anything. And then, of course, there had been Gilbert Blythe. Rejecting him had broken his heart along with her own, for that is what happens when you refuse the very person you wish to marry most, even if you do not know it at the time.

Experienced, however unwillingly, in the art of rejection, one would think that Anne would be a master at the craft, and be able to break her news to Roy unflinchingly; quick and curt and easy. Yet this time was different. This time, it was her fault. She herself had invited the proposal; had encouraged it through her words and actions. She was a victim of her own folly.

What made matters so difficult was the knowledge that she had led Roy on for nearly two years, without ever truly loving him at all. Her heart had been taken long before Roy had entered her life, and by the time she met him, there was nothing left to give. Anne had loved the air of mystery and romance which surrounded Roy, but she had not loved Roy himself. She esteemed him highly, and cared greatly for his happiness, but she did not love him in the way that a wife ought to love a husband. She felt selfish; she felt like a fool. And now Roy would suffer for her mistake.

"I was saying," Roy continued, snapping Anne out of her reverie once again, "Have I ever read to you my poem about the violin?" Forced to abandon her exercise in self-loathing, Anne brought herself to answer.

"Yes, I believe you did. Twice, I think."

"Did I? Oh yes, I recall it now. You told me it was the loveliest thing you had ever read, although I think you may have been a bit biased," Roy replied with a sly smile, while giving Anne's hand a playful squeeze. His touch singed her; Roy had no idea what was coming to him, and Anne felt positively ashamed. She folded her arms absentmindedly across her chest.

They found themselves near the park, as was their habit, and Roy suggested they enter it. Anne consented, and they soon found themselves among the twisted bows and rustling leaves. Anne's spine tingled as she remembered her most recent visit here only the day before, with another young man. She blushed from head to toe for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, and hoped desperately that Roy could not hear the terrible pounding of her heart.

Anne was tired of walking alongside Roy, pretending everything was normal and searching for the right moment to "just do it," as Phil had said. Realizing that the perfect moment would never arrive, and wanting to be free of her burden, she decided now was as good a time as any—or as terrible a time as any, for that matter. Swallowing hard and preparing to speak, her heart suddenly stopped. Taking in her surroundings, she realized that Roy had led her to the pavilion on the harbor shore, in which they had met two years ago. It stood, tall and friendly, with white beams leading up to a domed white roof, and sea grasses growing all around. Despite the hot day, Anne wanted anything but to find herself in its shade, and yet she found herself being led by Roy right under its wooden eaves. He was standing still now, gazing at her with a purposeful look in his eyes. It was quite romantic of him to propose to her here; so romantic that she should have seen it coming. She cursed herself for not paying better attention to where they were headed.

Anne felt numb as Roy took her pale white fingers gently in his own, stroking the soft skin on top of her hand with his thumbs. His eyes wore a tender look; his sincerity unnerved her.

"Roy," she said uneasily, taking a step backwards. "Roy, listen…" Unhindered by her feeble attempts to stop him, Roy launched himself into a speech he had clearly rehearsed many times.

"My dear, sweet Anne. The few short years which we have shared together have been the highlight of my life," he began. Anne's mind erupted in alarm. She couldn't let him humiliate himself like this; she must do something. Yet her panic had caused her to fall mute.

"Every time I look upon your beautiful face... inhale the sweet perfume which drifts from your hair... look into your captivating eyes…" He removed a hand and dipped it into his pocket, taking out a small silver band. Anne thought it strange that he had already bought it; usually the engagement band was not purchased until after the proposal. Roy must have been completely assured of her acceptance. As he continued to speak, his words were so romantic and sweet that Anne couldn't bear it. She needed to stop this—now. She forced herself to speak.

"Roy, wait… please," she pleaded, withdrawing her hand from his grasp. Her words shocked him into silence; he stared at her incredulously. "I know what you are going to ask me, and I… Oh Roy, I can't marry you!"

Roy gaped at her, unable to process what he had just heard. That she would stop his proposal was a scenario that had never even entered his mind. "W…what?" he asked, confusion in his voice. Anne took a step backwards, hands behind her back, grasping for the support of the wooden pillar behind her. Roy matched her movements with a foreword step of his own.

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry Roy! But I can't, I just can't..." Anne's words trailed off. Her eyes began to water at the pain she knew she was dealing him. What made her feel even worse was the knowledge that if she gave him the true reason for her change of feelings, it would only intensify his pain. Roy, however, still had trouble believing that Anne was really serious. He mistook her reluctance for nervousness.

"Anne," he said soothingly, moving forward and taking her hand once more. "I know you're scared, but—"

"I'm not _scared_ Roy! I am so sorry, I never meant to mislead you, honestly! I thought I could marry you, until… Oh Roy… It's just that I..." Anne stumbled over her words until they faltered her completely. She needed to tell Roy about Gilbert, but she was terrified of what she would find in his dark, inscrutable eyes when she did so. Withdrawing her hand once again, she fingered the sash of her dress while pondering what to say next.

"We aren't right for each other Roy! Surely you must see that."

"What do you mean, Anne?" Roy's voice began to crack as he realized Anne was serious. The color drained from his face, as if he had just been sentenced to death. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively before continuing. "We have so much in common; we both love nature, and poetry, and music—"

"Well sure, we like a lot of the same things, but so do the closest of friends! But it's more complicated than that, Roy. There's no…" Anne paused as she searched for the right term—the term for the gravity which bound her to Gilbert in a way she could never explain; the term that explained how she simply _belonged_ with him, in a way that required neither reason nor rhyme. Yet there was no earthy word or phrase to adequately describe this connection, and so she could never truly explain it to Roy.

Roy looked at her, eyes wide, as if his entire future depended upon the words that would next leave her lips. Whatever it is he was lacking, he could improve; he could be better.

"There's no… _spark_," Anne finished, emphasizing the last word. Roy's face fell, as if he was unable to comprehend what she meant. He derived what little meaning he could out of her statement.

"Oh, so this is about romance?" he questioned, trying and failing to stay calm. "I don't see how I could hardly be _more_ romantic, Anne! What about all the flowers, and the poems I send, and the song I wrote and sang to you on your birthday, and—"

"Believe me, Roy, you've been incredibly romantic. But I'm not talking about romance, I'm talking about a spark… magnetism… we just don't have that!" Anne wailed, growing desperate. She longed for this conversation to be over. She longed to be curled up in her bed at Patty's Place, with the covers over her face to block out the world; or at least the unpleasant parts.

"Well then we can create it," Roy said. His face had grown pale and anguish was plain in both voice and eyes. Anne wondered if the ringing in her ears was actually the sound of Roy's world crumbling down around him. She was crying freely now; she hated to see him this way. She thought of all the tears she had shed since the previous day and wondered how her eyes were even capable of producing more.

"No Roy, we can't. It's something bigger than us, something that just happens…" Anne fell silent, unable to continue. She was overcome with guilt for not telling Roy just _how_ she knew so much about this spark she spoke of. It was as if she were lying to him, even if every word she had said was true. She needed to be honest with him, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bear to tell him that she was in love with someone else. She cursed herself for her deceitfulness.

"I care greatly for you, Roy. But I can never love you in the way you want me to. I am ever so fond of you, and I value your friendship more than I can say, but I need more than _fondness_, Roy. I need… well… _passion_." Anne saw the way Roy had flinched as she said the word "friendship," as if a knife had pierced into his very soul, deflating the hope from within like a balloon. He said nothing with his lips, yet his eyes told her everything. She had crushed him, as little more than a bug under her shoe. She dropped her gaze to the water of the harbor, lapping softly against the shore. She scraped her toe across the floor of the pavilion, drawing invisible lines across its hard surface. Roy still would not say a word. His discomfort made her feel uneasy, and Anne gathered her courage, determined to tell Roy the truth. Lying was worth nothing—lying had never been one of her faults and she did not intend to start now. Lying was easier, but telling the truth was _right._

"I can't explain it, Roy. It's something you'll only understand if you—" she paused as she took in the pleading look in his eyes.

"If I _what_, Anne?" Roy asked, calmly.

Defeated, she spoke in a quiet voice. "Only if you..." she gulped, "experience it for yourself." Her words were as good as a confession. She watched as comprehension slowly dawned upon Roy's face.

"Of course," she heard him mutter under his breath. He shook his head slightly, then pressed his palms against the temples of his forehead and inhaled sharply. Then, much to Anne's surprise, he started laughing. Yet this was no sweet, cheerful laughter. This was calm, yet somehow mildly hysteric. It seemed that he was actually laughing at himself, rather than at her, although Anne could not understand why.

"Have _you _experienced it, Anne?" Roy's eyes were fixed upon her with a fierce stare. "Surely, that is what you are trying to tell me." Anne swallowed, looking Roy straight in the eyes.

"Yes," she said, in a voice that was not her own, "I have." She dropped her gaze to the floor, fingering a strand of hair that had fallen loose from the knot on top of her head. She couldn't bear for him to look upon her right now, and so she dared not lift her gaze as she continued. "There's someone else, Roy. I didn't mean for there to be, it just _happened._ Believe me when I say it was just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you... but..." she looked up now and was taken aback by the pained expression on Roy's face. Was she only imagining it, or were tears peaking out from the corner of his eyes?

"You've been leading me on," he said, feelings of betrayal eminent in his voice. "For the past two years, you've just been playing around. You used me." Anne's heart wrenched at his words. She knew how this must look to him; of course Roy assumed that this had all happened during their courtship. She wanted to explain—to assure him that this had not been the case, yet explaining her bond with Gilbert was like explaining why birds fly, or fish swim. It couldn't be explained—it just _was_.

"Roy, honestly, I thought I was in love with you, right up until the last moment—"

"Until you realized you were in love someone else and threw me to the side without a second thought. Thank you for telling me, by the way, _before _I made a fool out of myself today."

"No, no, no!" Anne moaned. The last thing she wanted was for Roy to think she had merely _thrown him aside._ "I tried to tell you, Roy! But you were so happy, I didn't want to sour Convocation for you…"

"Do you think I give a care in the world about Convocation compared to this?" exclaimed Roy, incredulous. "I would have expected better of you, Anne." Anne had never seen Roy like this before. She had seen him upset; they had quarreled several times in the past. Yet this was different. His voice was angry, yet it also carried distinct tones of bitterness and disappointment.

"I never meant to hurt you, Roy, if only it were easier to explain," she sighed.

"I'd hate to waste any more of your time," came Roy's cold reply. "I've heard everything I needed to hear, thank you."

Anne peered at Roy through eyes still full of tears. She hated how she had hurt him. She hated how she had been so dense, so oblivious to her own feelings for Gilbert, that she had ever allowed for Roy to occupy such a place in her life. She hated how she had tried to give Roy a heart which had already been claimed by another, when she was but a child.

"I will leave you now, Anne Shirley, for that is clearly your desire. And I will say only this—you have used me very ill, and I do not know if I shall ever recover. I feel I could have made you happy, but it is clear you do not agree. I am sorry that I could not meet your… qualifications." She stared at him, waiting for him to ask the one question he hadn't voiced already—the one that must be burning in his mind above all others. Yet he did not ask it. Instead, with a curt nod, he turned and descended the wooden steps. How could he not want to know?

"Roy!" Anne called. Stopping, he glanced back around. "Don't you want to know who it is?" she asked quietly. She said it not to gloat, or to rub salt into the wound. She said it because she would not be able to live with herself if she kept it from him.

Roy's dark blue eyes were overcome with sadness as he replied. "I already know, Anne." At the way he said the words, she saw that he _did_ know. Of course he did. The whole world had always known Anne Shirley was in love with Gilbert Blythe, except Anne herself.

"Goodbye, Anne."

"I hope that we can still be friends, Roy," said Anne. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how insensitive they sounded; how atrocious they were after what she had done.

"I doubt that will be possible. I'm sorry, but you must understand the situation you have put me in." Roy made to turn around, then added, "I hope… _he_… makes you very happy, Anne. " And with that he strode away.

The way Roy emphasized the word "he" made Anne feel very uncomfortable—perhaps he hadn't even possessed the strength to mention Gilbert's name. As she watched him descend into the shadow of the trees, all the emotions she had been holding in forced their way to the surface. Anne bent over and placed her hands upon her knees, giving herself over to a series of violent sobs. She then slid to the ground, lying against the white railing, as she tilted her head back and knocked it gently against the soft wood several times.

She felt an overwhelming sense of shame, not because of the kiss she had shared with Gilbert while she had still been courting Roy, so near to this very pavilion; but rather because of how foolish she had been to ever let Roy believe she loved him—to let herself believe she loved him. He was right, she _had_ used him ill, although she had not known it at the time.

She lay against the wooden pillar for several minutes, eyes shut tightly and face lifted upwards. Then, she suddenly felt she could not remain there any longer—in the place where she had first seen Roy's tall, handsome figure and heard his musical voice. Drawing herself onto her feet, she climbed back down the pavilion steps. Then, for the second day in a row, she turned and fled to the safety of Patty's Place.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whew! Another intense chapter. My head hurts! Thank you thank you thank you for sticking with me this far. The fact that you've read all the way through to chapter 7 is the sincerest form of flattery! And thanks for the lovely reviews, as always :)<br>**

* For more on the "hero of Anne's dreams" see Anne of the Island, Chapter XXV.


	8. Soulmates

_AN: First of all, I wanted to say a million thanks for all of the lovely comments about the last chapter. I was blown away by the incredible reception of Roy's character… I had a hard time trying to get it right, so hearing how much everyone appreciated/enjoyed my description of him makes me very pleased! Thanks for waiting patiently for updates, a chapter every other day was getting quite exhausting... -J_

**Chapter 8: Soulmates**

**K+**

Anne lay on a small hillock in the orchard of Patty's Place under the shade of several apple trees. She stared up at the overhanging branches, which framed a pale blue sky dotted with tiny puffs of white cloud, making their way lazily across the scene. She rubbed her hands softly through the grass, gathering the tiny blades between her fingers. Giving a small sigh, she closed her eyes and felt the warm sun on her face as it shined through the leaves of the trees above.

The past twenty-four hours of Anne's life had been quite eventful, and they had left her feeling exhausted. Could it really be that around this time the previous day, Anne had been sitting cozily in the living room of Patty's Place, lost in her contemplations and ignorant of what was to come? She felt months older, and years wiser, than when that sharp knock had sounded upon the door only hours ago—that knock that would see her life thrown into chaos. She was glad to have a brief respite from the commotion that had surrounded her since that moment.

Upon arriving back home, Anne had been relieved to find that Phil and Stella had not yet returned from Redmond. She had opened the front door and heard Aunt Jamesina bustling around in the kitchen as the aroma of cherry pie wafted through her nostrils; the old lady was clearly planning a tea to remember in honor of Convocation. Thankful for an excuse not to disturb her, Anne had slipped outside and made her way to the orchard. Back on the harbor shore with Roy, she had longed for the solace of her bedroom, but in the end she had decided she would rather seek comfort from the flowers and birds.

And so now she lay, feeling the late spring breeze against her skin and listening to the soft clicking of the tiny blades of grass which rubbed together next to her ears. She breathed in deeply and felt herself meld into the earth, as if she had become one with it. She was glad to be alone and wanted to stay that way a while. She was tired of awkward conversations; tired of crying; tired of thinking. Yet as she lay there in the orchard grass, thinking was all that Anne could do.

She tried to figure out just how she was feeling, but of course she was feeling many things. First, there was an overwhelming sense of remorse; she had torn Roy's world to pieces that day, and for this she was utterly ashamed. However, despite the knowledge of Roy's misery, their conversation had also been followed by a distinct sense of relief. The worst was now over. She had been miserable during Convocation; hardly a moment passed when she had not dwelt upon the task before her, and now that she had told him the truth, she felt much better. Yes, the truth was out, and she suddenly realized that she was free—free to love Gilbert Blythe without fear or restraint. Although the thought of it did not lessen the pain of injuring Roy, it added a sweet sense of joy to the mix of emotions she was feeling.

Anne continued her hilltop meditations for quite some time, drifting lazily from one thought to another, until she was brought back to her senses by a soft "plip… plip…" several yards away; it was a sound which she could not quite place. She lay upon the grass as the sky slowly came into focus, bordered by the grays and greens of the trees above. Several white blossoms, caught up in the wind, danced a lively waltz through the air. For the first time since a pale-faced Gilbert had arrived at her doorstep the day before, she felt calm and relaxed, like it was just another lazy Saturday afternoon—almost. "Plip… plip…" the noise continued. Rising up on her elbow and turning her face towards the sound, she discerned Philippa, sitting quietly on a large boulder and tossing shiny gray pebbles against a nearby tree. She glanced farther over and saw Stella, leaning against a rough gray trunk and twisting the stem of a flower between her fingers. She wondered how long they had been there, and if it were possible she had fallen asleep. Seeing Anne's quiet movements, Phil turned to look at her.

"Well look who's decided to join us, Stella! Oh don't worry, Anne, I doubt you'd been napping very long, we only just arrived home and it isn't hardly tea time yet. Aunt Jamesina is working up a storm in the kitchen, she practically slapped my fingers off when I leaned in to smell that cherry pie she's made…"

"Well you oughtn't to have gone near it, Philippa!" chimed in Stella. "It's supposed to be a surprise, you know. She ushered us straight out of the kitchen when she saw us. Oh Anne, it's going to be quite the lovely tea."

"Yes, the nicest Patty's Place has seen in quite some time..." agreed Phil, "but wait—you've been crying, Anne. I can see it in your eyes. " She immediately rose from the boulder and crossed to Anne. Stella followed. "So you spoke to Roy, then."

Anne sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Self-consciously, she rubbed her eyes—could it really be that they were still red? She cursed her pale complexion for giving her away. Phil's question made the memories of her exchange with Roy come flooding back, and the momentary sense of peace she had felt was shattered. Her eyes began to burn with a fresh round of tears. She fought them back as best she could.

"Yes," she said through several heavy sniffles, "it's done." She glanced at Stella as she said this; she hadn't talked to her about her recent ordeal and she wondered how much Stella knew. Seeing Anne's tentative glance, Phil answered her question for her.

"Oh don't worry, Anne. I filled her in. I hope you won't mind, I figured it would be easier for you that way." Anne didn't mind. There was Phil for you—revealing Anne's innermost secrets to others and somehow, it wasn't a problem.

"I'm so sorry Anne," said Stella, "letting Roy down must have been quite hard for you. But I can't say I'm not glad to hear you've finally come to your senses about Gilbert. And as I've said before, Roy is a lovely and all, but he's really rather boring." Phil nodded in agreement at Stella's words.

"Don't be so insensitive!" Anne cried, "I've hurt him grievously; I've been the worst fool. All he ever did was try to please me, and in return I shattered his heart."

Phil slid next to Anne and put her arm around her shoulder. "Don't work yourself up, honey. I'm not saying I don't feel badly for Roy, but he'll heal, Anne. It wasn't meant to be." Anne stared into Philippa's eyes, wanting nothing more than to believe her. Phil squeezed Anne's shoulder.

"He proposed, you know," said Anne quietly, resting her chin on her knee and wrapping a strand of grass around her finger.

"He what?" cried Phil and Stella in unison.

"Oh, don't act so surprised. We all knew it would probably happen today. And I tried to talk to him before, but I was too late…" Anne sighed.

"I'll bet it was incredibly romantic, straight out a novel," said Stella.

"Was it, Anne?" added Phil. The two girls looked up at Anne with dreamy eyes. Anne couldn't help but let out a laugh. As she did so, some of the tightness in her chest seemed to give way.

"Quite romantic," said Anne pensively. "He proposed in the little pavilion where we first met…" Stella let out a small sigh at this point, "and he had rehearsed an incredibly romantic speech, and he pulled an engagement band from his pocket—"

"He didn't!" gasped Phil.

"He did!" said Anne, who was appreciative of the rapt attention of her companions. She recounted the story to two most willing listeners. It was nice to have friends who cared for you, and somehow, as she told them the story of what had happened on the harbor shore, the pain she felt inside lessened considerably. With every word she spoke, she felt lighter; freer. It was as if they were helping her shoulder the burden of her shame.

"And then…" Anne continued as she arrived at the end of her tale, "he turned around and said... 'I already know.'" Her statement had the desired effect. Stella gasped, and Phil brought both hands to the sides of her face.

"Do you think he really did know?" asked Stella.

"Or do you think he was only pretending he did?" added Phil. Anne thought for a moment before continuing.

"He did know," Anne said. "The way he said it—I just knew he did. Although exactly how, I'm not sure... "

"Well," said Phil, in her usual tone of knowing everything, "isn't it obvious?"

Anne stared at her, wondering what on earth she could mean. Phil swatted a fly that had been buzzing near her arm, waiting lazily for the other two girls to catch up to her line of thought. Anne didn't appreciate the suspense; she knew Phil was doing it on purpose. Satisfied that no one was going to answer her question, Phil continued.

"As soon as you told him you were in love with someone else, of course he knew it was Gilbert. Stella and I have always thought you fancied Gilbert. We used to talk about it all the time, didn't we Stella?" Phil said matter-of-factly. Stella blushed, looking at Anne apologetically. "The only evidence we had against the matter was the fact that you told us you weren't."

"But I've hardly even talked to Gilbert since I met Roy," Anne replied, defensively. "He proposed before that, remember?"

"Well sure, Anne, but the way you looked at Gilbert never changed. And Roy must have noticed how much you hated Christine Stuart, and how you hung closely on his arm whenever Gilbert was near, and how he was the only person you ever refused to dance with, and—"

"Alright, I get it!" cried Anne, not needing to hear any more reasons why her love for Gilbert must have been obvious to Roy.

"Well anyway," said Stella, "the point is it's done with. You'll start to feel better soon—"

"If only it were that easy!" Anne interrupted. "I keep imagining what Roy must be feeling—so close to settling down, with a wife and a family, and then I ruined his dream…"

Phil gave Anne a soft pat on the arm and asked a question which surprised her greatly.

"Do you believe in soulmates, Anne?" At first Anne thought she was joking. But as Phil continued to fix her with a serious look, Anne realized she was asking in earnest. She took a moment to ponder the question. Being the romantic that she was, Anne had always believed in soulmates, yet she hadn't known they actually existed until the day before. As she pictured Gilbert in her mind, she no longer needed to believe; she knew. Soulmates were as real as life itself, and Gilbert was hers.

"Yes," said Anne simply, "without a doubt." Phil smiled; Anne had clearly given her the answer she wanted to hear.

"And do you believe that everyone has a soulmate, even Roy?"

Anne considered Phil's question. "I guess I've never thought of it that way," she said. The thought was rather comforting. Of course there must be someone out there for Roy, somewhere.

"Well then," Phil said matter-of-factly. "Don't think of it as letting him down; think of it as releasing him, and allowing him to find the person who will make him as happy as Gilbert makes you. Don't you think he deserves that?" Anne nodded quietly. Phil's words were like soothing ointment on a terrible burn.

"You weren't right for each other, Anne. And he'll see that someday, and then he'll thank you." Phil smiled at Anne as she saw a look of relief upon her face. "You did what you needed to do, and now he can begin to move on. And you," she said, patting Anne on the arm, "can too." Anne smiled at this thought. Moving on… with Gilbert…

"That's what I like to see," said Phil, pinching Anne on the cheek and giggling. "Now then, what's done is done. And I won't let us sit here crying over the past. I do feel sorry for Roy but it needed to happen, and now all is set right. We are B.A.'s today, girls, let's celebrate! Promise me, Anne, that you will at least try to enjoy the day. You've earned it, after all."

Anne thought over Phil's words. Was it okay for her to be happy after what she had done? She knew the sorrow and shame she felt would not just go away, and nor did she want it to. But maybe happiness and sorrow could both occupy the same heart, without one infringing too heavily upon the other.

"Alright," said Anne, "I promise I'll try."

"Great," said Phil, as if that settled matters. "And anyway, I've got a little something to add to the tea table. Come and I'll show you."

The "something" ended up being a bottle of white wine, which Phil had snuck into the back of the ice box when Aunt Jamesina wasn't looking. The old lady threw up her hands as Phil pulled it out, setting it on the living room table and pouring three small glasses of it.

"Would you like some, Auntie?" she asked, partly to be polite, and partly as a joke.

"I should think not! That's the devil's brew, or so my dear mother used to say. Although I won't pass judgment—or at least I'll try not to," she raised an eyebrow at them before shuffling back into the kitchen. The three girls laughed as they watched her leave.

"And so," Phil said as they raised their glasses, "a toast to Redmond, for turning us into the finest B.A.'s Canada has ever seen!"

'Clink' went the glasses as they each took a sip.

"And also," she added as an afterthought, "to Anne Shirley, for finding true love, even if it had to kiss her on the mouth for her to see it." Anne laughed as she remembered her conversation with Phil the night before—although it felt like ages ago. They took another sip.

It was three very giddy girls who joined Aunt Jamesina at the tea table fifteen minutes later. As they helped themselves to lady fingers and cherry pie, and laughed and talked about matters great and small, Anne realized how truly blessed she was to have such wonderful friends. She would miss them dearly when she returned to Avonlea later that week.

"Oh, Anne," Phil said through her third slice of pie, "I forgot to mention, how silly of me. Gilbert said he would come by around five."

"Did he?" Anne said, nearly dropping her fork as she subconsciously smoothed her hair.

"Yes, I spoke with him before we left Redmond. I told him of course that would be no problem, you would be happy to see him—"

"Did you!" exclaimed Anne, amused by Phil's self-assurance.

"Oh come now, Anne Shirley. There's no use denying it any more. Your secret's out, so you might as well—" Phil's statement was cut short by a quick shove from Anne.

When five 'o'clock came, Anne sat in the living room, watching as the evening begin to show itself in the small front garden. Her hair had been tucked back into place, her pearly pins had been reinserted, and the sash on her dress had been re-tied. She looked every bit as beautiful as she had during the Convocation ceremony.

Anne was drawing lazy patterns on the glass of the window when she saw Gilbert approaching the garden gate. He had not changed either; he still wore the same jacket and waist coat, with a deep red tie knotted just below his throat. Anne had always liked to see him dressed up; he looked rather dashing in his suit. Standing up quickly and smoothing out her dress, she went out to meet him.

"Hi, Gil," Anne said, rather shyly.

"You were expecting me, I see," Gilbert said with a small grin.

"Phil told me you were coming," Anne admitted.

"Care for a walk?" Gilbert asked, gesturing to the path in front of them. "Just around the garden, if you want."

Silently, they began to wander towards the back of the house. Anne saw two heads peering at them through an upstairs window, although they disappeared as soon as she fixed her gaze upon them. Gilbert noticed as well and gave a tiny laugh.

"Phil and Stella are home, I see." Anne shrugged in agreement, embarrassed at their display. They continued without speaking for a short while, until Gilbert could not resist any longer.

"So," he said as casually as possible, "You talked to Roy?"

"Yes," was all Anne replied.

"Ah," said Gilbert, clearly wishing for Anne to say more, but not wanting to probe her further. There were so many things Anne could have said then, yet she didn't know where to begin. She longed to tell Gilbert about her feelings; he had a way of understanding her better than anyone she knew, yet it felt strange to talk to him about Roy.

"You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to," Gilbert said softly. How was it he could always read her thoughts? Anne looked up into Gilbert's eyes. They stared back at her in the intense way they always did. Something she found there caused her to lose control of her emotions, and tears began spilling down her cheeks.

"Oh, Gil," Anne exclaimed, "It was horrible! He was so badly hurt, he tried to propose you know, and when I told him I couldn't marry him he just…" a violent sob cut Anne's words short. Swallowing, she continued, "And it was all my fault, Gil. All my fault. How many people must I hurt through my idiocy! First you, and now Roy, I can hardly stand it! He just went… pale, Gilbert! And I hated seeing him that way, you don't even understand…"

But Gilbert Blythe did understand; he understood better than anyone else in the world could have. He knew firsthand what it felt like to be rejected by Anne Shirley, and although he knew not the exact degree of Roy's love for Anne, he now felt a tinge of regret for his mocking behavior at Convocation. Gilbert drew himself up next to Anne and brought his arms around her. She leaned her head against his chest, her hands clutching at her shoulders.

"I doubt he'll ever speak to me again," Anne said, sniffing. "I shall miss him dearly." Gilbert rocked Anne slowly back and forth in his arms, wiping her tears with the sleeve of his shirt. How insensitive he had been to tease her!

"I'm sorry, Anne," he said. "I didn't realize how much he meant to you, as a friend. I shouldn't have teased you about him today. I guess I was just so happy when you told me you loved me, and I was blinded by my feelings… and I immediately assumed he was nothing to you, but of course he was; it would be foolish to think otherwise." Anne could see the remorse in his face. His behavior at Convocation had really only annoyed her more than anything, but she was used to Gilbert trying to annoy her.

"I should have known how uncomfortable it would be for you to let him down," Gilbert continued. "It must have been very awkward to see him today, when you hadn't had the chance to talk to him… I was just so caught up in my own joy I didn't—"

"It's okay, Gilbert," Anne said, interrupting him. "You didn't bother me very much, I was far too submerged in my own trials to pay much heed to it… And anyway, after everything I've done to you over the years, I think a little bit of teasing hardly makes up for it."

"Hardly," Gilbert smirked in agreement, "but I plan to make you pay me back in other ways." He flashed her a grin. Anne decided he couldn't possibly have meant what she thought he did.

"Oh, I have something for you," Gilbert said, taking a few strides to a nearby bench and sitting down. He patted the seat next to him, motioning for Anne to join him.

"You do?" said Anne, intrigued. She sat alongside him as he reached his hand into his pocket.

"A little graduation present," he said, handing her a small brown parcel. Anne took it in her hands and pulled apart the string which bound it, then carefully unfolded the wrappings. Into her hand fell a small, roughly carved wooden horse, about the same size as her palm. She gasped as she looked upon it.

"Oh Gilbert, it's beautiful! Did you make this?"

"I did," smiled Gilbert, pleased by her response.

"I learn something new about you every day," she mused. "I didn't know you could carve wood."

"My dad taught me when I was young; we used to practice together on the front porch. My mother would get so angry at the mess we would leave behind. Wood shavings all over the wicker furniture…" Gilbert chuckled at the memory. Anne glanced more closely at the figurine. Gilbert was by no means an expert, but for an amateur it was nicely done. And Anne wouldn't have had it any other way, for it was its imperfections that made her love the carving so much.

"This is the most wonderful gift I could ever imagine!" said Anne, in her usual dramatic tone.

"It gets better," Gilbert added. "I carved it from the wood of the Snow Queen. I know how much you loved that tree." Anne choked on her own breath. She looked up, puzzled.

"Loved?" she said, carefully. "As in, past tense?" Gilbert swallowed, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"What? You mean...um... Marilla didn't tell you?" he stammered.

"Tell me what?" Anne asked incredulously. Could something have happened to the Snow Queen? Her eyes began to grow hot with moisture at the very thought. Gilbert gaped at her, embarrassed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I thought you knew..." Gilbert's face grew red. This was not going the way he had planned. Instead of Anne delighting in the fact that he had carved her a figurine from the wood of her favorite tree, she was crying upon finding out it had fallen over in the first place!

"What happened, Gilbert?" Anne asked quietly, as though someone had died.

"It blew down, Anne, during a storm last March. My father mentioned in a letter that he and Mr. Fletcher were going that weekend to help Marilla haul it away." He paused, waiting for Anne to respond, but she merely stared at him. Not sure what to do, Gilbert continued. "And anyway, I wrote back asking him to save a bit of it for me, and during Easter vacation I went back to Avonlea and got it, and I carved it for you." He watched as a single tear slid down Anne's cheek. The Snow Queen, gone? Anne could hardly bear the thought of the view from her east gable window, free of the blossoming branches of the majestic cherry tree.

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground. His romantic moment was ruined. Surely Anne was upset at him for being the bearer of bad news—more bad news on a day that had already been rather hard for her. He had worked so hard on that carving for her, and now it caused her only pain. Looking back up, he saw that Anne continued to stare at him blankly. The expression on her face was impossible to read. He waited for her to break the silence. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but could not find the words. Great, now he'd really done it.

"Oh, say something, Anne… please," Gilbert said, unable to stand it any longer.

In response, Anne fixed her green eyes upon him with a great intensity. He wondered if she might hit him. Then, she surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Gilbert, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me!" she cried, standing on the tips of her toes and kissing the hair on top of his head.

"You mean, you aren't angry?"

"Angry?" she exclaimed, "of course not! I mean yes, I am devastated that the Snow Queen is no longer with us. Believe me; I shall have a good cry about it later." Gilbert chucked at her remark. "But goodness, Gilbert, how ever did you think of such a thing? To have something so beautiful to remember the Snow Queen by is just… well… oh now I think I will cry!" Her eyes watered as several more tears escaped down her cheeks.

"And the fact that you made it—that makes it twice as nice," she said, wiping her eyes. "Thank you, Gilbert. Just, thank you." And with that she fell silent. Anne meant every word she said. That she could carry a bit of the Snow Queen with her wherever she went, was priceless. The fact that Gilbert would think to do such a thing, and months ago when he still thought she was planning to marry Roy, blew her away. She realized her tears were not from the precious gift he had given her, but rather from the overwhelming knowledge of just how much Gilbert loved her. And she loved him, with all her heart. He was her soulmate—that she had ever believed otherwise was a mystery to her.

Gilbert reached forward and tucked an auburn curl behind Anne's ear, lingering for a moment on her warm skin. Anne melted at his touch. How she wished he would kiss her right now. She longed to taste him again; to feel the sensations she had felt the day before—only this time, he would have to be the one to pull away first. Yet Gilbert had not kissed her since their meeting in the park, and that had been a last resort. Now that his moment of desperation had passed, he was every bit the gentleman he had always been. She remembered with a frown that they were not yet engaged, and so it wouldn't be proper.

As they sat together on the bench, Anne was acutely aware of the fact that his knee was touching hers, ever so slightly. How could this one small touch send such a spark through her—how could it ever be enough after the kiss they had shared the day before? Yet it was enough; her skin tingled where it made contact with his. She inched closer, wanting more of him, even just a bit more of his knee, or perhaps she could bump his elbow…

Her fascinations came to an abrupt halt as Gilbert stood up. Suddenly, her knee felt rather cold. He motioned over his shoulder at the garden path. Giving a small sigh, Anne stood and joined him.

"I wanted to ask you something," Gilbert said as they turned and resumed their walk.

Anne's heart caught in her chest. There was something in the way he said it—something that told her it was no ordinary question he was about to ask. She could feel butterflies welling up in her stomach as she grew dizzy with anticipation. Was it possible that he was going to ask her the very thing she wanted so badly to be asked?

"Mmmm," was all she managed to reply. He took her hand and kissed it softly; Anne thought she might faint at the feel of his lips on her skin. She could hardly breathe for the expectation building up within her.

"I was wondering," he said slowly. Anne looked at him, waiting. "…if you would save me a dance tonight?" Her heart sank. She took a deep breath, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Or two, or three," he added with a smile. "I'd ask you to go with me, but I don't think there's any need to give the people of Kingsport something to gossip about, only days before we leave."

Anne sighed. So maybe he wasn't proposing, but it was very sweet of him to ask her for a dance, after all. And he was right; it would be foolish to attend the dance together and give the other graduates something to talk about. She also didn't want to subject Roy to the pity of the entire town; it would be cruel to do such a thing.

After letting Roy down, Anne had been in such a terrible state that she had debated even going to the dance at all. It didn't seem fair to enjoy herself so soon after hurting him; it seemed dishonorable. Yet now that she had been cheered up by Phil and Stella and Gilbert, she decided things were not as grim as she had thought them to be. She did not need to shut the world out as punishment for her actions. So she decided she would go to the dance after all. It would be her last chance to see many of her Redmond friends, and besides, she would be able to dance with Gilbert.

"So how about it?" asked Gilbert, who had sensed Anne's wandering mind, and had patiently waited for her thoughts to run their course. Anne looked up into his brilliant hazel eyes and smiled.

"Well, alright then," she said, "Two or three."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Anyone notice I snuck the title back in there? Blown away? Of course you are.<strong>

**Oh gosh, that last chapter got so many heart-melting comments. Here's a short book of my responses:**

Lilies of Avonlea: Your idea made me laugh out loud! I'm just cracking up imagining it in my head!

Guest: "I volunteer to mend Roy's broken heart…" HAH! Loved it!

Maddie: You are too sweet, thank you. I smiled just reading your comment.

Raindrops, Katherine, kbmjp, Alinyaalethia: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the Roy love! You have no idea how much it means…

MaraudersLove: It's hard to know what to feel about Roy, isn't it? I was trying to work off of the "Roy was so perfect it was boring," idea. I think I added a little piece to it sometime after your comment… I have a habit of doing things like that.

Katherine Brooke: I'm absolutely flattered! And an extra thanks for the comment!

Blythespirit: I love your name! And thanks for the love!


	9. On Love and Laced Fingers

_AN: And now we come to what you've all been waiting for: the dance! This chapter ended up being rather lengthy—I don't know how it ended up becoming so long, I guess there was just a lot to tell! But it just didn't seem right to split it up into two. So here you have it. It was very fun to write, and I'd love to hear your comments on it!_

**Chapter 9: On Love and Laced Fingers**

**K+**

When one person realizes they have feelings for another—when they have truly admitted it and embraced it—it is as if a wave of emotion is released inside of them. Feelings that they have unknowingly kept pent up inside abruptly surface, all at once, in a sudden flood. It is like adding yeast to bread; once it takes hold, it is unstoppable. When a person realizes they are in love, someone they seldom thought about only days before suddenly becomes the center of their world, and they wonder how there could have ever been a day when that was not the case.

This is just what Anne Shirley experienced, on the day she finally realized she was in love with Gilbert Blythe. Yet still, Anne proved to be quite different from the average person whom cupid's arrow finds, for she had been ignorant of her emotions for far longer than most lovers, and therefore had stored up enough neglected feelings to fill an entire ocean. And so, when her wave was released, it washed over everything like a great tsunami. She was unable to run from it, and so she let herself be cast along in its mighty current.

She loved Gilbert with all of her heart, and the knowledge of it made it hard for Anne to breathe. As she had never been in love before, or at least not consciously, the sensation was very unfamiliar to her. Although Gilbert was the same person she had always known, she now looked at him through new eyes. She had undergone a renaissance of sorts, and as a result she felt like a small babe, taking its first exciting, unsteady steps upon the ground. It would be easier to crawl; walking was harder, riskier, and far more frightening. But beyond even this, Gilbert Blythe made her want to run—to rush headlong into whatever this love thing was.

Gilbert had returned home to meet Charlie and a few other friends; the young men had planned on heading to the dance together. Anne found herself in the solitude of her bedroom, holding Gilbert's carving in her hands and running her fingers along its edges. She imagined him holding it, fixing it with a concentrated look, making delicate movements as he passed his knife along the rough wood, and thinking of her with every motion. She had received two gifts from Gilbert that day—the carving and the lilies-of-the-valley. Both gifts were so simple yet incredibly thoughtful; so _Gilbert._ She would take those two wonderful tokens over a string of a thousand pearls or a dozen amethyst jewels. Furthermore, on top of everything was the knowledge that they were the first two gifts he had given her—or at least, in her mind they were, for the world before yesterday seemed to fall away; she remembered it in only black-and-white. Now she was seeing in color.

She thought about how everything with Gilbert would now be a "first" of sorts. She recalled the kiss he had left upon her hand that day. He had kissed her hand before, as they had been close friends for many years, but this was the first time he had done it in a romantic way. She traced the invisible outline of his lips upon her skin, and pressed her hand softly to her cheek. She then brought it to her mouth and kissed it tenderly; in her mind she replaced her hand with his lips.

Next, she felt the gaps between her fingers, one at a time, and imagined the day that Gilbert might slide his own fingers through them. She could practically feel her palm resting within his. The vision of his skin alternating with hers filled her mind and overwhelmed her. She began to breathe quickly and shook her head to right herself.

Besides the small tender touches, and the stroking of hair, and the brushing of fingertips, Anne was also looking forward to their first kiss—one that would not be marred by panic, guilt, or impropriety, or feelings not understood, or the strain of wanting to pull away but being unable to. She longed for the kiss because this time, she would know how she felt about it. This time, she would be aware of just how special it was.

Another thing Anne was looking forward to was their first dance that evening. She had danced with Gilbert many times before, but this time would be different. This time she would feel something more—although, as she thought this through, she realized she _had_ felt something when she danced with Gilbert in the past. Dancing with him had always been electric; dancing with Gilbert had felt different than with any other partner. Firstly, there was the pride she had always felt when standing up next to him and seeing the other girls' jealous faces. Also, the way he led her around the room, firmly yet tenderly, appealed to her in a way she couldn't explain. She had dismissed the sparks shooting through her body as a mere result of the intimacy of dancing itself, but now she realized how foolish that idea was. Anne seemed to always be discovering clues—clues which forced her to admit that she had been in love with Gilbert for as long as she could remember. Every time this happened, she felt more and more frustrated with herself for being so stubbornly thick. No wonder Gilbert had proposed to her two years ago, she had practically been hurling signals at him.

"Are you ready, Anne?" asked Phil, when Anne came downstairs to find her heels. She was standing in the living room next to a tall, tow-headed man with a large mouth and bright red cheeks. He was wearing a gray tweed suit that fit him rather awkwardly in the shoulders. His face wore a friendly expression, and he smiled upon seeing Anne.

"Hi, Jonas," said Anne as she descended the stairs and crossed over to them. "Glad you could join us this evening."

"I was happy to come," said Jonas. "Even if I'm a terrible dancer…"

"Nonsense, Jo, everyone can dance," Phil said. Clearly they had had this debate before, and judging by his presence here today, she had won. "Of course I insisted that Jo escort me this evening, even though some people say it isn't entirely proper for a minister to dance… but times are changing, as they say, and I'm determined to fill my entire card with his name." Phil looked lovingly at Jonas as she intertwined her fingers with his. Anne looked on in jealousy, reminded of her desire for just that very touch.

"Of course he'll have to spare a dance for each of you," she added. Anne laughed; the thought of dancing with Jonas was simply comical.

"You needn't worry about me, Phil dear. I'd dare not take him from you—"

"No, I insist," said Phil. "He needs the experience of dancing with multiple partners, even if neither you nor Stella are as light on your feet as I am, or quite so versed in the art. Oh, Anne, do you think I will be the prettiest girl there? Not that I care, but it's a good thing to know."

"I think you will be by far the fairest maiden to enter the hall. And our dear Jo will have to fight the tide of men swooning before your feet," Anne said as seriously as she could. Phil laughed at her dramatic tone. She was always fishing for compliments and Anne was well used to it by now. At this point, Stella entered the room. One hand clutched a small purse while the other attempted in vain to insert an earring.

"Oh, this silly thing," she murmured in frustration, dropping the purse to the floor with a small thud and using her free hand to aid in the process. The earring having finally been inserted, she straightened up and smoothed out her hair.

"Stella darling," Anne said with a laugh, "you've put it on backwards." She crossed to her friend and held the purse while an embarrassed Stella corrected her mistake.

"If it were me I wouldn't have told her," joked Phil, as the merry group crossed over the threshold of Patty's Place and set out for Redmond.

The hall which held the Convocation ceremony earlier that day had been cleared out and transformed. Where the stage had been, there now sat a small orchestra, which would provide the music for the evening. The space in the center of the room had been left empty to give the graduates room to dance. On the side opposite of the orchestra was a grouping of tables, covered with purple tablecloths and each adorned with several candles and a vase of flowers. A variety of refreshment could be found at a buffet against the wall. Long strands of purple and white ribbon stretched the length of the room, intertwining in neat spirals, and spaced evenly along the walls were several tall stands holding bouquets of jasmine, irises, and Anne's favorite—lilies.

By the time the small group from Patty's Place arrived at the hall, it was filled the chatter and laughter. Many people milled about the entrance, while small groups of students were scattered outside the building. On the backside of the hall was a garden where many courting couples would find themselves later that night, although now it was nearly deserted. Anne entered the room and scanned the many faces for Gilbert. Her stomach tingled and her heart beat quickly as she began to weave her way around the room, making a thorough search. Realizing he was nowhere to be found, she wandered back outside to see if he was on the lawn. It seemed that Gilbert had not yet arrived, and Anne was amazed at her own disappointment. She knew he would be here any time, yet she also knew she wouldn't be able to enjoy herself until she saw his face.

Anne also noticed that Roy was nowhere to be seen. This did not surprise her entirely; if she herself had been debating going to the dance after their conversation, surely he had not even considered it as a possibility. Another prick of remorse tugged at Anne's heart. Must she ruin everything for him, even his graduation dance? Caught between feelings of sympathy for Roy and perplexity at Gilbert's absence, Anne went to join Phil and Stella, who were examining their dance cards. Phil was bragging to Stella that she had already had three offers, all of which she had refused.

"You can't dance with _only_ Jonas all night, it would be rude," Stella said. "Here, why don't I dance the first quadrille with him, and Anne can take a waltz, and that will free up some spaces on your card."

"Fine then," said Phil, grabbing Jonas' card from his hand and penciling Stella's name in. "Oh there you are, Anne. I'm putting you in for the second waltz with Jonas, if that is alright. Or would you rather dance the redowa?"

Anne was forced to imagine performing the leaping steps of a redowa opposite Jonas, and all she could imagine were his feet coming down clumsily on top of hers. Preferring not to be stepped on today, she thought better of it.

"Why don't you take the redowa, Phil. I'll take the waltz. There are many more of them anyway." Satisfied by Anne's response, Phil added Anne's name to the list, then handed Jonas' card back to him. Anne couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder at the door. Surely Gilbert should be arriving at any minute.

Fifteen minutes passed and still Gilbert Blythe had not made his appearance. Anne began to worry that something had happened to prevent him coming. Did he receive a troubling letter from home? Did he twist his ankle on the walk over and find himself unable to finish the journey? Anne was surprised at just how many scenarios her mind came up with, and began to despair. The first dance began, and Clayton Hyde, whom she knew from several clubs and classes, asked for her hand. Anne did not feel like dancing at a time like this, but finding no excuse to refuse him, she soon found herself out on the floor. Clayton was actually a very good dancer. He was very friendly and engaged Anne in a lively conversation. She tried to give him her attention but found it very difficult.

As they spun around the room, Anne glanced repeatedly at the door, until finally she found what she had been searching for. Charlie, Frank, and a few of Gilbert's other friends entered the room. Surely Gilbert must be among him, yet it was hard for her to get a good look given her current circumstances. As Clayton brought her around, she turned her head yet again and saw him. Gilbert had indeed entered the room, and on his arm was Christine Stuart. Anne gave a small start as she saw them together and immediately tripped over Clayton's foot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, "How silly of me." Clayton assured her all was well, as he continued to guide her with sure steps. Anne felt a fierce heat well up within her. Why was Christine Stuart here with Gilbert? After everything that had happened, this was the last thing she had expected to see. Gilbert was _hers_ now; or at least, almost. Yet seeing Christine on his arm made Anne boil over with jealousy. She was burning with curiosity, but she was trapped on the dance floor and unable to get away. This was turning out to be quite possibly the longest dance of Anne's life. When it finally did end, she gave a quick curtsy to Clayton and immediately retreated to the side of the room.

She wasn't sure just what to do now. If she approached Gilbert, she did not know what she would say. She was angry with him—how dare he show up here with Christine, and without ever mentioning it to her! For half an hour she had waited for him to arrive; she had been so eager for the moment she would see him, and now all her hopes of a pleasant evening came crashing down. Her temper getting the better of her, she strode across the room to Stella—Phil was dancing with Jo—and grabbed her arm.

"Care to get some fresh air?" she asked. Stella agreed and they headed to the front door. As they passed Gilbert and his friends, Anne shot him a resentful look. Gilbert's face fell; she could see a troubled expression in his eyes, and his posture told her he was very uncomfortable. Looking away and sticking her nose up in the air, she continued outside.

"What was that?" Stella exclaimed, once they were out of earshot of the door. "Why is Gilbert standing next to Christine?"

"I don't know!" cried Anne. "He didn't mention anything about it. She's not even a graduate, so he must have brought her here!"

"Well there must be some explanation, Anne. Maybe there's something we're missing here," said Stella, attempting to be the voice of reason. She placed a hand on Anne's arm, patting it lightly.

"What explanation could there be!" Anne said, trying not to cry yet again that day. "Maybe he changed his mind— "

"Of course he didn't change his mind, Anne. Don't be so nonsensical… oh look! He's coming over here." Stella motioned to the door of the hall, and Anne turned around and saw Gilbert hurriedly crossing the lawn. She turned away, folding her arms over her chest.

"Anne!" said Gilbert, placing a hand on her shoulder and spinning her around. "I need to talk to you."

"I can see that," said Anne plainly, not attempting to hide the hurt in her voice. She turned to Stella, but her friend had retreated to give them a moment alone.

"Look, Anne, before you get upset, let me explain," Gilbert pleaded. Anne wanted nothing more than an explanation, but her pride was in the way. She opened her mouth to retort, but thinking better of it, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, attempting to calm herself down.

"Fine," she said as casually as possible.

"Oh Anne, I knew you'd be upset. Look, I forgot I'd told Christine I would escort her to the dance tonight. She had wanted to go so badly and you know she isn't a senior. And when I said I'd take her, that was before… well, you know. And after everything it just slipped my mind completely…" Anne let out a small sigh as she shuffled her feet. Gilbert looked eagerly at Anne; his face begged for forgiveness. Anne was relieved at his explanation, although she did not show it immediately. Her stubbornness had gotten the better of her. Gilbert took a breath and continued.

"I didn't even remember, until we were all on our way here and Charlie mentioned that we needed to stop by her boarding house to pick Christine and Emma up—Frank is escorting Emma, you know—and I wanted to talk to her, to let her know about you and I, but I couldn't do it in front of everyone; that would have started a wave of gossip." Gilbert was talking so quickly that Anne was almost amused. Several of his words slurred together as he tried to get the all the facts on the table as quickly as possible.

"But here's the worst part, Anne. Since I knew I couldn't talk to her in front of everyone else, I asked for a moment alone… so now _she_ knows what is going on, but I'm afraid the others seem to have… er… misinterpreted things." Gilbert looked at Anne sheepishly as he said this. He was winded after his speech and took a few deep breaths.

"So you mean," said Anne, "you think they thought you _proposed?"_

"I don't know, I think so. They certainly didn't consider it an innocent meeting." Gilbert's apology for the entire ordeal was written on his face. He feared Anne would be very angry with him, even if there wasn't much he could have done to keep this mix-up from happening. To his surprise, Anne let out a laugh. He sighed in relief as she did so, and then he started laughing as well.

"Will it never end?" cried Anne. "I thought we'd had our fill of confusing situations this weekend." Gilbert smiled. Now that he knew Anne was not angry, he had to admit the whole matter was quite humorous.

"I promise, things will all be very straightforward soon enough," he said.

Anne wondered if there was a hidden meaning behind his words. Was he hinting at what was to come later that night? She hoped beyond all hope that he would propose to her sometime during the dance—after all, what reason would he have to delay? The prospect of it had been tantalizing Anne since the previous evening. Then, and only then, would he finally be _her Gilbert,_ in a way that the entire world would have to recognize. And there was nothing Anne wanted more in the world than for him to be _hers._

Anne couldn't help but be amused at the irony of the situation. Two years ago, when she had discerned Gilbert's intentions of proposing to her, she had avoided him with all her might. When he had finally cornered her, she had begun her refusal before he even asked the question. How stupid and insensible she had been! Now the tables had turned; she longed for him to renew his addresses, to the point that it was always in the back of her mind, pecking constantly at her heart and causing it to throb with impatience.

Her thoughts went back to something Gilbert had said to her, as she had given him her pointed assurance that she could never love him, yet insisted that she wanted to go on as close friends. "_Your friendship can't satisfy me, Anne,_"* he had said. She hadn't believed him then—she had thought _he _was the one who was confused. Yet all along the confusion had been her own, and now she understood the truth behind his statement better than she ever wanted to. His friendship could never again satisfy her; it wasn't enough to simply be near him, sharing witty conversations and laughing at eachother's jokes. She needed to touch him, to feel his breath on her face and his skin pressed against hers. She needed to belong to him.

"Anyway," Gilbert continued, oblivious to the longing that consumed Anne. "I told Christine everything, or at least the parts she needed to know. Technically, she is accompanying me here, but she'll stay with Emma mostly. And I'll still be free to take up those two or three dances you promised me. Speaking of which, where is your card?"

Attempting to control the violent emotions inside her, and tingling with anticipation at the idea of Gilbert adding his name to her card, she reached into her purse and pulled it out. She opened it, and was about to ask Gilbert where she might add him in, when he snatched it out of her hand.

"Give that back!" she cried, reaching for it as he pulled it still farther away. Grinning mischievously, he held it above his head and out of her reach. Anne jumped in the air, attempting to retrieve it from his grasp, but it was no use. For the first time, Anne wished Gilbert wasn't quite so tall. Gilbert laughed as she gave up and placed her hands on her hips.

"Thank you," he said archly, "Now, let's see here." He took out a fountain pen and began marking the card. Anne leaned in to see what he was doing, but he turned away to keep her from doing so. She reached for the card but he batted her hand aside with his elbow. Not to be deterred, Anne tried again, and he slapped her fingers playfully with his pen.

"Patience, Miss Shirley," he said in a patronizing voice. "And… there. That should do it." He handed the card back to Anne, who examined it.

"Four dances! Gilbert Blythe, I said two or three!"

Gilbert merely grinned. "Yes, so you did."

"And…" Anne repeated, "you signed your name on four of them."

"Yes," was all Gilbert replied.

"But that's one more than I said you could have."

"Yes, it is. Great math, Anne," Gilbert said. Anne simply could not handle the impish grin plastered on his face.

"But… I…"

"I don't see what the problem is here, Anne. Now, if you'd kindly sort yourself out, for you seem to be rather flustered about something, we should head back inside. I believe that waltz is coming up soon." And with that Gilbert turned and walked slowly back towards the door, waiting for Anne to catch up to him. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Anne turned and joined him. In reality, she wasn't upset; both she and Gilbert knew that. She was actually rather giddy about the fact that he had put his name down for so many dances. It was a pity he hadn't signed up for five.

"You know," he said as they entered the hall, "I'll have to dance the first with Christine. I did bring her here, after all." Anne sighed. She wanted to protest but he was right, as usual.

"And it would look strange for me not to dance a few dances with her," he continued carefully, "since I'm dancing so many with you." Once again, a true statement. Here Anne was, caught up in yet another twisted situation.

"It makes me wonder if all of this pretending is worth it," Gilbert said. "Remind me again why we are afraid of a bit of gossip?"

"Roy," was all Anne replied. "I'm doing it for Roy, and you are doing it for me." That was the truth of the matter. An obvious display between her and Gilbert would expose Roy to humiliation; everyone would know she had let him down and it would be the talk of the town all evening. It would be so much easier if they didn't have to put on this ruse, but there was no way around it.

As Anne and Gilbert entered the hall, the next dance was starting. Finding Christine, Gilbert led her out onto the floor, while Anne rejoined Phil, Jonas, and Stella.

"Poor Jo needs a break," Phil said. "That quadrille wore him out. I didn't realize he didn't know all the steps… although you were a good sport, Stella." Stella gave Anne a look that told her everything she needed to know about the quadrille in question. Jonas was a lovely fellow, but dancing was not his best quality.

Anne then turned her attention to Gilbert and Christine. She knew she shouldn't feel jealous as she watched them twirl around the floor, but she simply couldn't help it. Her eye traveled to Gilbert's hand, which was stretched out as it held Christine's, and then to the other which rested against her waist. She felt as if Christine had no right to touch Gilbert, even if it were merely a friendly dance. After being jealous of Christine for two years, Anne found she simply could not rid herself of the sentiment.

And besides, Christine seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. Gilbert told Anne that there had never been anything between them—that Christine was engaged to a fellow back home. Yet women have an uncanny way of reading eachother's faces, and Christine's screamed of affection for Gilbert. Anne wondered, for a terrible moment, what Gilbert would have done if she _had_ married Roy. Could he have possibly ended up with Christine after all? Yes, Christine was engaged, but Anne knew all too well that nothing was ever certain—just look at what had happened between her and Roy! An intense fury welled up within Anne at the thought of Christine as Gilbert's wife. _Christine Blythe_… Anne promptly turned around and placed her hands upon her knees, worried she might vomit. It was at this point that she joined her friends at the punch bowl.

A concerned Stella asked Anne what Gilbert's excuse had been for arriving with Christine. Anne gave her two companions a quick explanation.

"How unfortunate," said Phil. "But I suppose nothing was to be done."

"I think it was very gentlemanly of Gilbert not to back down on his promise to Christine," added Stella sweetly. "My, she does look happy though."

"Yes, a little too happy, I'd say," said Anne.

"It's cute to see how protective you are of Gilbert now," said Phil. "Don't worry, it looks good on you." She grinned at Anne. "And anyway, you need not worry about Christine Stuart."

"Why not?" asked Anne, wondering what Phil might be getting at.

"Because," she said smartly, "he may be out there dancing with her, but his eyes have been on you the whole time."

After his dance with Christine—Anne was upset at the orchestra for choosing such a long selection—Gilbert returned to his friends. He appeared to be engrossed in conversation, although he kept shooting glances over at Anne as the two shared plenty of private jokes. It was funny—she had hardly talked to Gilbert over the past two years, yet it was as if not a day had passed since the height of their camaraderie. He was still the same Gilbert, and she the same Anne, in a way.

As the orchestra struck the final chord of a lively waltz, Anne's heart skipped a beat. She looked down at her dance card. Gilbert's tiny scrawl could be found on the next line. As those around the room clapped in approval, she saw him making his way towards her. Anne suddenly grew rather nervous. She had danced with Gilbert before, but this time was different—this time it mattered.

"Excuse me, my lady, but I believe I reserved this dance," Gilbert said politely.

"Hmmm, I'm not sure. I'd better check," Anne said, pretending to scan her card with her finger. "Oh, yes, I suppose you did."

With a small smile, Gilbert held out his hand. Anne grew dizzy—how she had longed to touch his hand the entire evening! Her nerves exploded with feeling as his fingers closed gently around hers. Anne felt like she floated, rather than walked, to the center of the room. The music started and Gilbert reached for Anne's waist, pulling her close to him. She raised a quivering arm and placed it on his shoulder.

They were close now—very close—as they began to move to the music. Anne glanced at the other couples, taking in the amount of space between them. Then she looked at Gilbert. Surely they were much closer together than the other dancers. She felt as if they were practically embracing. She could make out several beads of sweat on his forehead, and the individual hairs of his eyebrows, and the tiny creases in his lips. Then she looked into his eyes and was lost. She had always known them to be hazel, yet now she could make out several brown and green specks as well. They were darker in the middle, and lighter on the sides. The light of the candles scattered throughout the room reflected in them like tiny stars.

The music picked up speed and Gilbert began to lead Anne in sweeping circles around the room. The way he led her was captivating; he was strong and in control, and completely sure of his movements. Anne need not worry about which steps to take, which was a good thing since her brain had seemed to stop functioning. She was in a sort of daze, and the only thing she knew for sure was that Gilbert's hand was on her waist, and the other was clutching her own, and that his eyes were staring straight into hers with a look of tenderness and desire and unconditional love.

She knew not her surroundings; she was oblivious to the stares and giggles of Phil and Stella, who read the captivated look in Anne's eyes from afar. She did not notice Gilbert's friends, who were nudging each other while whispering and pointing to the pair on the floor, or Christine, who watched the exchange with a face red from jealousy. No one who looked upon Anne and Gilbert could help but notice the magnetism between them; it radiated from them like a dazzling light.

As the music stopped, Gilbert slowed his movements. The entire room began to cheer for the orchestra, but Gilbert and Anne merely stared at each other, frozen in place. Anne had expected her dance with Gilbert to relieve her of some of her longing, yet all it had done was amplify it. If that had not been enough for her, what would be? As the music changed and the world slowly came back into focus, Anne ripped her gaze away from Gilbert, blushing heavily. She grasped his arm for support as he led her back to Phil and Stella.

"Thank you, Gilbert," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she gave him a short curtsy. "That was quite lovely."

"Yes it was," Gilbert replied, in an equally forced tone. "I'm looking forward to the next one." He leaned forward in a curt bow and then returned to Charlie and Frank, who were sitting at a table nearby. As he left, she saw him rub his shoulder slightly where her hand had rested upon it. So he had felt it, too.

The evening slowly passed away, and Anne had quite a merry time. She could not help but notice Roy's absence, and that did bother her, but she was determined not to let his pain ruin the night for her. She danced with Jonas, who was making a valiant effort, although it was clear he did not enjoy dancing. Anne figured that Jonas must surely consider it a miracle he had ever won Phil's heart, and so consequently he must be eager to please her. She then shared a few more dizzying dances with Gilbert, and a rather awkward one with Charlie Sloane, and a few with some other Redmond friends. Whenever anyone questioned her about Roy's absence, she merely replied that he wasn't feeling well and had decided to remain at home. It was true after all—he was probably in a terrible state. Whenever Anne overhead a comment about Gilbert's supposed proposal to Christine before the dance—the news of it had traveled quickly around the hall—Anne merely shrugged and kept silent. Awkward questions aside, the evening was quite pleasant.

There was one interesting moment where, upon escaping the room in search of the toilet, Anne had run into Christine and Emma, who were returning from outside the hall. Anne noticed that Christine's eyes were rather red, and wondered if she had been crying. She had seen Christine many times, and the two had treated each other with the utmost cordiality and politeness, yet they had certainly never become friends. Anne always felt that Christine did not like her very well. She had never understood the reason for Christine's dislike until now. Judging by her red-rimmed eyes, and the way she had gazed at Gilbert while dancing with him, it was obvious that Christine was very much in love with him, despite her supposed engagement. Anne decided it would be best avoid an awkward encounter, yet it was too late; their eyes had locked. Christine and Emma approached Anne.

"Anne Shirley, how nice to see you. You are looking simply sweet tonight," Christine said, in a tone that seemed almost too cordial. The huskiness of her voice told Anne that she had indeed been crying.

"Thank you, Christine. You look lovely as well," Anne replied, attempting to muster equal civility.

"You must be so thrilled to have finished your studies. Gilbert told me you took High Honors in English," Christine said, with an air that implied that Gilbert told her many things.

"Yes, it—"

"That must have taken a fair bit of studying..." Christine continued, interrupting Anne's reply. "Granted, perhaps not so much as our dear Gilbert... He is such a nice fellow; he's been ever so kind to me while I've been in town, escorting me faithfully to every event, despite being simply buried with schoolwork…" Christine's mask of civility had grown practically transparent. She was clearly trying to remind Anne of just who Gilbert Blythe had spent most of his time with over the past few terms. And "_our_ dear Gilbert?" Christine was displaying a level of possessiveness over Gilbert that Anne had not seen in her before.

"Yes, Gilbert is quite… _nice_... as you so eloquently put it," Anne replied shortly.

"Well I'm happy for you two. You seem lovely, and I can see why he's so taken with you. I was afraid he'd settle for a_ fickle_, _capricious_ girl, and she would be ever so unworthy of him, don't you agree?" The way Christine emphasized those two words alerted Anne to the degree of her hostility. So that's how she viewed Anne, then, as a fickle girl who couldn't make up her mind until the last minute. Well, she had been a little late to discover her feelings for Gilbert, but that was none of Christine's business! She and Gilbert shared a history that Christine could hardly dream of. Anne took a deep breath, trying not to let her temper get the better of her. Making it clear to Christine that her words had been interpreted correctly, Anne fired back.

"Well, I was rather slow to become in touch with my feelings, wasn't I? But at least I wasn't engaged yet. If I _were_, I would have felt terrible for entertaining those sentiments at all." Anne's blow struck Christine exactly as she meant it to. A heated look flashed across her eyes and her eyebrows narrowed slightly. Realizing this, Christine then smoothed her face into a sweet smile.

"Well then, for Gilbert's sake, it's a very good thing you weren't," she said with an air of forced civility. Anne did not reply, she merely looked at her with an exaggerated smile.

"Well then, I'd better get back inside. Goodbye, Anne."

"Goodbye, Christine. It was ever-so-nice to finally talk to you." With that Anne turned around and continued on her way, feeling that she had bested her opponent.

As the night wound down, Anne shared her last dance with Gilbert. It was at a slower pace, and it was so sensual that she felt she could hardly stand it. At first they had chatted about the evening, but as the music wore on, they both grew silent; they had fallen under a spell that neither wished to break. As the dance ended and they applauded with the others, Gilbert suggested to Anne that they head outside for some fresh air. Anne felt the thrill of anticipation at the idea of being alone with Gilbert. Grasping her hand, Gilbert wove his way through the crowd of people, pulling her gently along. How she longed to lace her fingers into his…

Once outside, they found their way to the garden which bordered the hall. They could make out several couples in the shadows, enjoying a bit of solitude after the crowded room. The moon was shining brightly above, and it cast a brilliant glow upon the scene below. Gilbert and Anne talked animatedly as they walked under several overhanging willow trees and past a small pond, which was bordered by delicate white and gold flowers. Seeing a stone bench in the distance, Gilbert suggested they rest there a while.

Anne hardly heard herself answer him; her mind was wrapped up in expectancy. Surely this was the time and the place. The night was perfect, and the occasion was lovely, and they were both dressed in their finest clothes and looking their very best. Now that they were here, Anne did not mind so very much that he hadn't proposed back at Patty's Place; this spot was much more romantic.

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" Gilbert asked Anne.

"Immensely," said Anne, "I haven't had this much fun in ages."

"Nor have I," laughed Gilbert. "I've been so buried in books this term that it's a wonder I ever left my bedroom!"

"Well, you got the Cooper out of it, and that's something," Anne suggested.

"I never even meant to win the Cooper. Did I ever tell you that?" Gilbert said quietly. Anne was shocked. She thought that surely he had done all that studying with the intention of winning Redmond's most prestigious award. She shook her head and looked at him inquisitively.

"If you must know," said Gilbert, "I was studying because I wanted to get you out of my head." He let the words sink in for a moment before continuing, "I thought that perhaps, if I crammed my brain with algebra and geology and anatomy, there would be less space for you to fill it." Anne was left speechless. She knew his spirits must have been dampened while she was courting Roy, but she hadn't realized that his pale face and sallow expression, and the dark rings around his eyes from lack of sleep, had been _her_ fault. She was overwhelmed with sorrow at the knowledge that she had ever caused Gilbert pain.

"And also," Gilbert continued, "it was too hard for me… seeing you with Roy. You always seemed so happy with him—"

"Only because I was putting on a show for you!" Anne interrupted. "I thought you were in love with Christine, and I was ever so jealous of her, and so I clung to Roy in order to make you see how happy I was; so you could see I didn't need you! Of course I might not have realized it at the time, but it's obvious now…"

"Hmmm…" was all that Gilbert replied. Her words had made his thoughts turn to something else.

"Say, Anne, can I ask you something?"

"Anything," Anne said, and she meant it. _Anything_, but especially _one thing… _She held her breath.

"Do you think you would have gone through with it?" Gilbert asked.

"What?" Anne said, confused.

"Do you think you would have married Roy, if I hadn't… well you know… interfered." Gilbert's eyes were locked on Anne's. She could see this question was very important to him. Anne pondered a moment.

"No," she responded flatly. "I don't think I would have." Gilbert continued to stare at her intensely. "I think that somewhere, deep down, I would have known it wasn't right. When he did propose, I think something inside of me would have told me to refuse him."**

"You really think so?" asked Gilbert, earnestly.

"I do," said Anne. "I know that there's not much stock in it now, and we can never really know, but I truly mean it. You were always the only one for me, Gil." She could see relief wash over him; the question must have been bothering him for some time. Anne reached her hand up to Gilbert's face and stroked one of the curls on the side of his brow. His hair was so soft, it surprised her. Gilbert caught her hand with his own and slowly brought it to his cheek. He pressed his skin against it. Then he brought it to his lips and kissed it, for the second time that day. Anne's entire body began to throb, from her fingertips down to her very core. His breath was so hot upon her skin, she wondered if it might burn her.

Gilbert then brought Anne's hand to his lap and slowly, tenderly, interlaced his fingers with hers. The feel of it was intoxicating to Anne. It was better than she had even imagined earlier that day. It was as if their hands were made for each other; her fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between his, and her palm rested in the center of his hand as if it had finally found its home. She was unable to tear her gaze from the sight of their alternating flesh—Gilbert Blythe was holding her hand, and it was like nothing she had ever felt before. He then began to stroke her thumb with his own, and Anne thought she might melt into a tiny puddle on the ground. His movements were so gentle. Hands which could pound nails into wood, and shovel snow, and swing an axe, and shoe horses—those hands could also hold hers softly and tenderly; they could love her with their touch. When she finally looked up into Gilbert's eyes, he was smiling widely.

"Do you have any idea, Anne Shirley, how long I have dreamed of doing that?" Anne smiled back, captivated once again by the intensity of his stare.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say… eleven years?"

"You got it," Gilbert replied, thinking that this was not the only thing he had wanted to do for eleven years.

They stayed that way a while, and in that moment, Anne wished the world might stop turning—that time might be frozen, and they could remain that way forever.

Gilbert Blythe did not propose that night, as Anne had wanted him to do so badly. And although she did not know the reason for his delay, as they parted that evening, she did not mind. Perhaps Providence did not allow for too many good things to happen in one day, and if there was a limit to happiness, she knew she must have reached it.

She was wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you as always for reading! I never would have dreamed we would make it to nine chapters… especially when I had originally ended it at three! And as usual, thanks to all who have reviewed. It means a lot! Don't worry, we aren't through quite yet. I shall be very sad when that day arrives! Anyone have a box of tissues?<br>**

*See Anne of the Island, Chapter XX: Gilbert Speaks

**And, as we all know from Anne of the Island, she did.


	10. Perspective

**Chapter 10: Perspective**

Anne left Redmond for Avonlea four days after Convocation. She hardly managed to see Gilbert during that time, as each was busy wrapping up odds and ends, and packing their belongings for the trip home. The one visit he did pay came the afternoon before they were to depart. Anne had been sitting in her small bedroom at Patty's Place, amidst a pile of books that she was attempting to organize into boxes. She had accumulated quite the collection, and as she could not afford to take them all back to Avonlea, she was deciding which to keep and which to give away.

She was mulling over a particularly difficult book to place when she heard a soft knock on the door. It startled her, for she had thought no one else was home. Stepping gingerly over the haphazard pile before her, Anne pulled the door open to reveal Gilbert, leaning casually with one arm against the doorframe. The sight of him at her bedroom door gave her quite a fright, seeing as it was quite unexpected, and she shrieked as the book she was holding fell to the floor.

"Happy to see me, I see," Gilbert grinned, as he bent down to pick it up.

"Gilbert! Have you ever heard of knocking?" she said as he handed it back.

"I did knock, as you can see."

"On the _front_ door?"

"I did. No one answered," Gilbert replied candidly as he leaned back against the door frame with his hands in his pockets.

"And so you decided you would just let yourself in?"

"It would appear so."

Anne never failed to be amazed at his audacity. "You know, breaking into people's houses is frowned upon in this country."

"I didn't break in, it was unlocked." Anne could not decide if she was more amused or annoyed at the way Gilbert so nonchalantly countered each of her statements. Or did she find it appealing?

"And so now you find yourself, in my _bedroom._" She emphasized the last word.

"Is this a bedroom? It looks more like a shipwreck," he said with a straight face. Anne scowled at him, although he was right—her room was a mess. Her bed was covered in piles of clothes, which she had stacked according to how she planned to pack them. Her desk was littered with toiletries and knick knacks. The walls were bare, but the hangings she had pulled from them earlier that day were rolled up against the window. Anne knew as well as anyone that when cleaning any room, things must get worse before they get better, but still it was hard to believe she had been working at it all morning.

Gilbert gave one of Anne's long braids a tug as he entered the room. She didn't usually wear her hair in such a fashion anymore, but had done so today in order to keep it out of her face as she packed. She found herself rather embarrassed of her appearance, assuming it made her look rather young and immature, but Gilbert was actually quite taken by it. Something stirred within him upon seeing those two golden red braids; she reminded him of the old Anne from their schooldays in Avonlea. Perhaps that was why he was teasing her now.

"You look like you could use a little help," he said to her, gesturing to the mess on the floor. Anne threw up her hands as she sighed in defeat.

"Yes," she admitted. "These books are putting up a real fight. I can't bring them all home, but I just can't bear to part with any of them either. It would feel as if I am hurting their feelings!"

Gilbert smiled. Here was the same Anne he had always known and loved. "I think the only one who is hesitant to say their goodbyes is you, Anne. Here, I'll help you go through them. I'll hold up a book, and you'll tell me when you last read it, and when and why you might read it again. And I will be the judge."

Anne looked at Gilbert skeptically. She wasn't sure this sounded like a fair deal. But, seeing as she was making little progress on her own, she consented. They spent the next half hour going through the list of titles and sorting them into one pile or the other. Gilbert couldn't resist the urge to tease Anne about a few of the books he found. On several of these occasions, said book came "_thwack!"_ down on his head. When they had finally gone through the last of the pile, Gilbert helped Anne place the books in boxes and insisted on carrying them downstairs for her.

"Well, that's done then!" Anne exclaimed as she slumped down onto the living room sofa. Gilbert brushed his hands together, giving an air of finality to the job, and sat down next to her.

"It's been some time since I've sat in this living room," he remarked, as he turned his head to scan the room. "Ah yes, the ever-watchful Gog and Magog. I wonder how many secrets they know, yet never tell."

"Oh Gil, as if I haven't sat up late at night, staring at their colorful porcelain coats, and thinking of that very question!" Anne exclaimed. "I used to pretend that a fairy would come out of the hearth and magick them to life, and I would lean my head on the mantle, and we would have the loveliest conversations," Anne said with dazed eyes. Gilbert could not help but tousle her hair as she said this. Anne was never too old for that imagination of hers. Suddenly seized by an idea, he jumped up from the sofa and swiftly took the two china dogs into his hands. He moved them in turn, pretending to stage a conversation.

"_Eh, Gog, did you see that strong, handsome man that carried those boxes down the stairs just now?"_

"_Why yes Magog, I've never seen anyone quite so dashing in this house before."_

"_That Anne girl is very lucky to have him around."_

"_We'd be lucky to have him around too. Perhaps he'll give us a good dusting, it's apparent that we need one."_

"_They never notice such things, Gog," _Gilbert shook his head as he wiped his finger on the back of Magog's coat, holding his finger out to Anne, as if to show her the dust that had accumulated there.

"Put them down, Gil!" Anne cried through a spurt of laughter, as she leapt from her seat.

"_Goodness, that Anne sure is uptight, don't you think, Magog?" _Gilbert taunted as he waved Gog through the air.

"Gilbert Blythe! Those are fragile!" Anne reached for the china dogs, attempting to wrestle them out of Gilbert's grasp.

"_She'll break us if she keeps that up_," Gilbert imitated, moving Magog this time.

"You put them back!" Anne said, and with that she made one last grab for Gog, who was in Gilbert's left hand. Miraculously, Gilbert loosened his fingertips and she found herself victorious. She was so surprised at her success that she lost her hold on the porcelain dog, and it slipped from her fingertips. She attempted to catch it as it bobbled in her grasp and then began to fall. She braced herself for the crash—for the sound of Gog's beautiful green and white coat smashing into a hundred pieces. Miss Patty would be so angry! Yet the crash never came, for Gilbert had stuck out his foot and cushioned the dog's fall. It balanced momentarily in the crook of his ankle before sliding off of his foot and coming to rest on the floor, unharmed.

Anne felt relief wash over her as she bent down to pick it up. Gilbert bent down too, and their fingers brushed together as they reached it at the same time. Startled, Anne looked up and found Gilbert's hazel eyes mere inches from her own. She could make out those same brown and green specks she had noticed before. She also noticed just how long his eyelashes were. She blushed as she tried to pull away, yet he had rendered her immobile, as usual.

Would it really be all that bad if she leaned in and brushed her lips against his? They seemed to beckon her, pale pink and parted ever so slightly. What was so improper about a kiss, when shared with the one you love? Anne noticed that Gilbert's eyes seemed to flicker to her lips as well. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. He had kissed her before; would he do it again? Gilbert lifted his thumb and placed it under Anne's chin, stroking the side of her jaw with a fingertip. Her breaths became shorter and faster. She grew nervous as she saw his lips part wider.

"We should be careful," he breathed, his face still next to hers. Gilbert was right. A situation like this required the utmost caution.

"Yes, we should," she said, her voice as dazed as her mind. Gilbert continued to peer into her eyes, with a look he had only ever reserved for her.

"With the dogs, I mean," he said.

"Yes, the dogs…" she replied absently. She was sure he was not referring to the dogs, as Gog lay forgotten between them on the floor.

"It would be quite foolish of us," he continued.

"Miss Patty would be ever so angry."

"What?" Gilbert asked, forgetting what it was they were supposed to be talking about.

"About the dogs," Anne stated, amused at his momentary lapse of reserve.

"Oh, yes… the dogs."

Anne found herself unable to break Gilbert's gaze. For a short moment, she thought that maybe he really would lean in and kiss her. He seemed to be fighting a small inner battle. She waited to see which side would emerge victorious. Just then, a sharp knock sounded upon the door, and the trance was broken. Anne immediately pulled away, standing up and smoothing out her dress. She then stood up to open it, while Gilbert returned the china dog to its former resting place.

Anne took a deep breath as she reached the door, calming her nerves. Then she opened it. Standing in front of her; tall, lean, and melancholy as ever, was Roy Gardner. He was dressed rather nicely, in a blue jacket and gray tie, and was holding a small box. Of all the people Anne had expected to find on her doorstep, Roy was the last person she would have considered. She opened her mouth to greet him, but found herself to be mute with shock.

"Hello, Anne," Roy said in an abnormally calm voice.

"Er… hello, Roy," she managed to respond.

"Is this a good time? I just came by to give you some things of yours, before you left." Anne wasn't sure what to make of his coming here. He looked out of sorts, and as if he hadn't slept for days. She peered into his tired eyes, trying to see what emotion might be hidden there. The memory of the pain she had caused him returned to her, and she felt it just as acutely as she had three days before.

"Well, I'm not so sure," she stammered, knowing Gilbert was in the living room and trying to avoid an uncomfortable encounter.

"It will only take a moment," Roy said politely. Finding no further excuse against letting him in, Anne held the door open farther and he passed through it. As he stepped inside, his eyes immediately locked upon Gilbert, who stood next to the mantle.

Roy's face fell. "Oh, you."

Gilbert merely shrugged. He had no idea what to say to Roy, but he didn't want to leave the entirety of the ordeal to rest upon Anne's shoulders. "Hello, Gardner," he said.

"Blythe," Roy replied coldly, turning his back to him.

"I see you have… company… I didn't mean to interrupt." Roy looked extremely uncomfortable. Anne wondered why he had to choose this exact moment to call upon her—during the one hour that Gilbert was here as well.

"Anyway, Anne. I wanted to give your things back," Roy said, holding out the box.

"I can't recall anything I'd left in your possession," she replied, clueless as to what might be inside. Roy continued to hold it out, and so she finally she took it and lifted the lid. She placed her hand over her mouth as she saw the contents. Inside was every letter she had ever written him, as well as a few odds and ends they had accrued together over their relationship. Among them were several old dance cards—Roy and Anne had always exchanged theirs after each event, a few dried flowers which she recognized to be from corsages she had once worn, and every birthday and Christmas present she had ever given him. Her eyes grew hot at as the sight of all the memories. They reminded her of just how thoroughly she had deceived Roy, and herself for that matter, for the past two years. And the fact that he was giving these things back to her, as if he wanted to forget it all, was unbearable.

"Roy," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "Whyever would you give these things back? They aren't mine; they were all for you." Anne wanted to cry. She felt miserable for what she had done to Roy—more miserable than even before, and that made her angry. Whatever his reasons for returning these things to her, she found it rather cruel of him. She wondered if he was trying to make her feel even more guilty than she already did.

"Well, none of it actually meant anything, did it?" Roy said softly. "You never loved me; you've made that clear. So why would should I feel the right to keep your tokens?" She could not figure out if he really believed his own words, or if he was merely trying to get under her skin.

"It didn't mean _nothing_, Roy," Anne said quietly. "I still care for you... I always did." She looked into Roy's eyes as she said this, and then glanced over at Gilbert. The fact that Gilbert was here in the room made everything much worse. Roy seemed to feel Gilbert's presence still more strongly than even Anne did. She imagined the anger he must be feeling, seeing the man that Anne had chosen over him. She remembered the way she had always hated the mere sight of Christine. Surely Roy must look upon Gilbert in a similar manner. In fact, it was likely even worse than she imagined. Her suspicions were confirmed as Roy's words began to grow hostile.

"You know what, better yet, why don't you give the box to _him? _You were thinking of him the whole time anyway," said Roy, grabbing the box back out of Anne's grasp and stretching it out to Gilbert. Gilbert raised his hands in defense as Roy approached him. Anne buried her face in her fingers.

"Calm down, Gardner. You're upsetting her."

"She can handle herself. And anyway, I guess you could say we're square," Roy stated, taking a step towards Gilbert.

"You're _square?_" Gilbert questioned. "If all you care about is evening the score, then I guess _you _could say you don't really love her as much as you claim. Because if you _did_, you wouldn't want to cause her pain." Gilbert was getting angry. He couldn't stand by and let Roy say hurtful things about Anne—his sweet, caring, sensitive Anne.

Gilbert's remark angered Roy still more. "Then what do you think _you_ were doing, chasing after her when you could see she was already happy with me? It seems like you were looking out for your own self, there," Roy fired, hoping to beat Gilbert at his own game. Gilbert took a moment to respond, thinking over Roy's question.

"The difference between you and I… is that when she rejected _me_, I walked away quietly. It felt like my life had ended, yet I did not let it show. I did that for _her_, to keep from hurting _her. _You, on the other hand, upon suffering the same rejection, packed up a box of the very things you knew it would rip her heart out most to see, and hand delivered it, so she could see you in your misery. And that, Gardner, is not love." Gilbert was fired up now. His hands had balled into tiny fists and he felt it difficult to stand in one place. Anne, on the other hand, stood frozen by the front door, watching the two men argue. Roy's face fell, as he seemed to realize the truth behind Gilbert's words. If he hadn't understood his own motives for returning the tokens before, there was no escaping it now. The fact that Gilbert had been the one to figure it out infuriated him. He lost all sense of propriety as he spoke next.

"Don't pretend to know my motives for giving Anne back her trinkets, which I no longer feel any right to ownership of. And furthermore, I don't think she has any room to blame _me_ for _my _actions," Roy's face was growing scarlet.

"Don't insult her."

"I'm not insulting her. I'm making a point. And dont tell me what I can and cannot do." The two boys were in each other's faces now; Roy was pointing a finger into Gilbert's chest. Anne had never seen this side of either of them, and was not quite sure what to think of it. She was worried they would begin to fight.

"And what point are you trying to make, Gardner?" Gilbert said, shrugging Roy's finger away.

"What point… what point?" Roy asked, incredulous. "She crushed me! She encouraged me on for two years when all along, she was fawning over you! Oh, don't act so surprised, Blythe. I'm not blind. I've seen the way she looks at you."

Anne stood speechless against the wall, clueless as to what she should do. She also wondered if Roy's words were true. Could he really have perceived her affections for Gilbert, back when they were still courting? As if in response to her thoughts, Roy then turned to face her.

"I could have handled it if you ended it sooner, Anne. But to string me along, until my very proposal! At least the other times—" he stopped, realizing he had said too much.

"Other times!" Anne exclaimed, finding her voice. "What do you mean _other times?_" This piece of news had taken her completely by surprise. Roy had never mentioned courting any other girls.

Roy fell silent, caught in his own trap. Anne was at a loss for words. Gilbert, however, was not.

"You were saying? What are these _other times_ you are referring to?" he asked, stepping sideways to face Roy yet again.

"It doesn't matter," Roy said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Yes, it does!" Anne exclaimed. "You always told me I was the only one you ever loved, and now I find that this has happened to you _before?_ And multiple times!" She could not hide the resentment that she was feeling. Here she thought she had been the one deceiving _him_, and yet he hadn't even felt the need to expose his past courtships to her!

"They were nothing to you, Anne," Roy said, a little more calmly this time. "And I think I'd hardly discuss it here, in front of _him._" He glanced apprehensively at Gilbert. Anne could not handle the tension in the room. She felt the windows must surely shatter from it.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you, Roy. And I was sorry before, but now I am also hurt." She considered adding that she was also relieved. If Roy had survived heartbreak before, surely he could do it again. Also, she suddenly didn't feel quite so distraught over her behavior towards him. She wasn't blameless, but apparently, neither was he. A little perspective was just what Anne had needed to get a handle on her grief.

"I'm sorry, too," Roy said. He twiddled his thumbs uncomfortably. He hadn't expected his visit to take this unexpected turn.

"Well, it seems I have overstayed my welcome," he stated, as he began to make his way to the door. "Good luck with that one, Blythe. And if you want my advice—don't buy the engagement token until _after_ she has accepted you."

"I assure you, I'd never be quite so sure of myself," Gilbert replied calmly, placing a hand on Anne's shoulder.

Roy's eyes traveled down to where Gilbert's hand touched Anne's sleeve. He opened his mouth to speak, but Gilbert interrupted him. "Goodbye, then. Until we meet again."

"I find that highly unlikely," came Roy's response. And with that he shut the door rather sharply and was gone.

Gilbert and Anne stood for several seconds, staring at the place where Roy had just stood. Then Anne leaned into Gilbert's chest and gave out a small whimper. He stroked her hair and whispered words of comfort as he rocked her calmly in his arms.

"I never would have believed it of him," Anne said, "to keep something like that from me. Although I suppose I don't know the whole story—"

"Don't defend him, Anne. He doesn't deserve it, not from you."

"He's not such a terrible person, Gilbert. He really is nice, and a good friend. I don't know what got into him today…"

"Well I do," said Gilbert. "You did; I did. _We did_, by being here together. I don't think he was expecting that."

Anne nodded in agreement. Gilbert couldn't help but feel extremely glad that he had been here with her, when Roy brought his parting gift. The thought of Anne, defenseless against Roy's cruel intentions—even if he hadn't realized them himself—caused a familiar feeling of anger to arise inside of him. He could see the scenario in his mind. Anne would have broken down and spouted out countless apologies, and Roy would have gotten exactly what he wished. Gilbert hoped he would always be there to protect her, whenever trouble came her way. Releasing Anne from his grasp yet keeping his hands on her shoulders, he looked into her face.

"And people will have to get used to it, you know," said Gilbert.

"Get used to what?"

"They'll have to get used to us… being together. Because I plan to bother you a lot from now on," he said, squeezing her shoulder. Anne immediately recalled their rainy meeting in the park. When he had offered never to bother her again, she had realized that all she wanted was for him to do exactly that. She had wanted him to bother her, every day. She smiled at the thought that she had gotten her wish.

"Well it would be a shame if you _didn't_ bother me often; you're really quite good at it," Anne said. Gilbert shrugged, once again tugging on those neatly woven braids he simply could not resist.

After Gilbert had gone, Anne returned to her room, which now looked slightly tidier than it had before. She sat on her bed—on top of her neat stacks of clothes—while leaning against the wall and pondering something Gilbert had said to Roy that afternoon.

"_I assure you, I'd never be quite so sure of myself."_

This had been Gilbert's reply, when Roy had given him advice on his proposal. Was Gilbert really unsure of himself when it came to her? Could he honestly still doubt her love for him, after everything that had passed between them? She wondered if that was why he still hadn't asked the one question she so desperately wanted to hear. Yet she felt she had made her feelings very clear to him, and _shown_ them as well. Perhaps he didn't doubt her affections, but merely wanted to wait a while, to make sure she wasn't going to change her mind again. Maybe he also thought her subject to caprice; after all, everyone else seemed to.

Whatever the reason for his hesitancy, she knew her love for Gilbert would not change, and whether it took him a day or a year to realize it, she would continue loving him, until the day she died. In the meantime, she decided she would be patient. If Gilbert had been patient for years, surely she could also be patient for a short while.

Anne sighed as she stood up and went to the window. Kneeling before it, she stared out at the tops of the trees and gave herself up to her imagination. There was only one thing she ever imagined these days; only one day stood out in her mind, above all others—the day that he would become _her Gilbert._ And she would imagine a thousand different ways for that to happen.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks as always for the lovely reviews. I enjoyed reading them, you are all too sweet! Next we will find ourselves back in our dear old Avonlea, for any who are longing to smell the air of PEI once more!<br>**


	11. Home

**Chapter 11: Home**

**K+**

After sharing tearful goodbyes with all the residents of Patty's Place, Anne found that it was time to return to Avonlea. She and Gilbert took the ferry home together, along with Charlie Sloane and Moody Spurgeon. Charlie had undergone his usual bout of seasickness, and Moody had accompanied him down below deck, leaving Anne and Gilbert to enjoy a couple of hours' private conversation. They leaned against the railing of the ship, shoulder to shoulder, rambling on as they always did about life, and philosophy, and whatever else it is that kindred spirits find to talk about. The one thing they did not speak of, however, was the future. Although their impending life together was prominent in both of their minds, neither dared discuss it. Gilbert partly wished he _had_ proposed to Anne at the dance—he had been quite tempted to do so—but he had his reasons for delay.

When they finally arrived at the Carmody station, Gilbert's father had come to collect the three young men, and as he did not have room for a fourth passenger, Davy had come to escort Anne. Gilbert and Anne made plans for a picnic the next day and parted for their separate carriages, as the tiny procession began its slow journey down the gravel road back towards Avonlea. On this early May afternoon, Prince Edward Island was painted in all the usual colors of spring. It looked almost exactly as it did on the day Matthew had first brought Anne to Green Gables, tall and gangly in that hideous yellow gingham dress. Anne thought about just how much had passed since that day—how much her life had changed.

"I could hardly believe it when Marilla said I could escort you home," said Davy importantly, as they set out on their short journey. "I've never driven past Avonlea by myself before. But I _knew_ I could do it, and as no one else could be found, they said they would let me, so long as I traveled right behind Mr. Blythe on the journey here."

"I couldn't ask for a better chauffeur, nor one so handsome," said Anne, ruffling Davy's hair.

"I'm awful glad you're back, Anne," said Davy. "Living with only two old ladies and Dora for company can get mighty dull."

"Come now, Davy! Marilla and Mrs. Lynde are _not_ old," Anne laughed. She had missed Davy's silly comments. He was nearly thirteen years old now, and although his days of breaking expensive willowware platters and locking Dora in Mr. Harrison's toolhouse were mostly over, Anne still saw him as the same naïve, inquisitive, mischief-making Davy she had grown to know and love.

"But they _are,_ Anne! I feel like I have to do _everything_ around Green Gables," Davy sighed. "Although I don't mind, of course. Anything for dear Marilla," he added as an afterthought.

"Well I'd say they are quite blessed to have you to help them," Anne stated. Davy shrugged his shoulders. "So, Davy, tell me the latest Avonlea news. What have I missed while I've been away?"

"Oh, not much," said Davy. "Milty Boulder got the strap last week for pouring a bucket of mud over Mirabel Cotton's head. But she deserved it, really. She tattled on him for putting a pin on the master's seat, and nobody likes a tattle tale."

"Now now, Davy. Milty oughtn't to have put the pin on the seat in the first place," said Anne, who had experience as a school ma'am and knew the frustration of being unable to identify the culprit of a prank.

"Did you know that Jane Andrews is getting married?" Davy asked, heedless of Anne's remark. "Mrs. Lynde says he's so rich, the money grows on trees right in his garden. Do you know where I can get a tree like that, Anne? I want to know." Anne could not speak for laughter. It was several seconds before she could bring herself to reply.

"I think she was joking, Davy."

"No, Mrs. Lynde never jokes, that much I know. She was also saying that she wondered if you'd ever marry, Anne. She says that you are getting old, and if you don't snap someone up soon, all that will be left are widowers and heathens. Are you ever going to get married, Anne? I want to know." Anne sighed. She had no doubt that Mrs. Lynde would say such a thing—it sounded exactly like her. She also found it amusing that twenty-two was considered _old_. She glanced forward at Gilbert in the carriage before them, talking casually to Moody while stealing glances in her direction. He caught her eye and smiled. She couldn't help thinking that Mrs. Lynde's worries about "widowers and heathens" would soon be over.

"I'd like to think so, Davy," Anne replied.

"Are you going to marry that one fellow you wrote of? Ray?"

"Roy, I think you mean," Anne said with a chuckle. "And no, Davy. I'm not going to marry him."

"Oh, that's a shame. Mrs. Lynde said he has a money tree, too."

...

Anne's first day back at Green Gables passed rather uneventfully. She had a very jubilant welcoming committee, which consisted of Mrs. Lynde, Marilla, and Dora. They had made a special tea in honor of her homecoming, and Dora had valiantly attempted to write "Welcome Home Anne" in pink icing on the top of a vanilla cake. Anne could not help but miss Diana, who had always been a member of the merry group, before she was married. She was further disappointed to find that she was currently in Charlottetown visiting her aunt Josephine, and would not be home for several days.

Mrs. Lynde informed Anne of all of the latest gossip. They talked of the loss of the Snow Queen, and of Mr. Fletcher's broken leg, and of the dark clouds which had just began to materialize over the hills, predicting yet another spring storm. Anne also heard much about Jane's millionaire—a certain Mr. Inglis. That was when the conversation turned to Anne's own prospects.

"And so, Anne," said Mrs. Lynde, as she and Marilla were doing the dishes, while Anne cleared the table. "Do _you_ have any important news you'd like to share with us?" Marilla rolled her eyes as she pumped water into the sink.

"Rachel…"

"Come now, Marilla. It's a simple enough question," Mrs. Lynde replied with a wave or her dish towel. She then looked expectantly at Anne.

"If you are talking about Roy, as I assume you are," Anne said, deciding not to beat around the bush. "Yes, he did propose—"

"Oh, wonderful!" Mrs. Lynde exclaimed, while Marilla gave a start and lost hold of the bowl she was scrubbing. "I just _knew_ you'd marry someone from that school of yours, and Roy seems like a nice enough fellow—"

"Wait, I..." Anne interrupted. Mrs. Lynde did not hear her.

"I thought him quite dashing when he came here last summer; everybody said so, didn't they, Marilla? And he's rich to be sure, even if he doesn't have as much money as Jane's Mr. Inglis—"

"Mrs. Lynde!" Anne cried, interrupting her ramblings. "You didn't let me finish. I was going to say that he proposed… and I refused."

Mrs. Lynde gasped as she brought her hand to her mouth, and Marilla whirled around, sending dirty dish water flying all over her pristine floors. The two ladies stared at Anne, unsure of what to say. Wanting to break the silence, Anne continued.

"There was a time when I thought I would marry him, but…" Anne paused. She wouldn't have minded admitting the truth—or at least part of it—to Marilla, but she didn't feel like telling Mrs. Lynde about Gilbert. She wasn't ready for them to be the talk of Avonlea, and especially when they weren't even engaged. Choosing her words carefully, she continued. "I've had a change of heart," she said. "He wasn't meant for me; we were too different."

Marilla began to dry her hands on a towel while sharing a rare sentimental look with Anne. Marilla had never been so sure of Roy Gardner. He was a nice enough man, and he was every bit as dashing a suitor as she could dream up for her girl. Yet somehow, she had never seen him as the type of person Anne would marry. She didn't get on with Roy the way she did with… but never mind. Anne had put an end to that prospect long ago.

"I'm sure you know best, Anne," was all that Marilla replied. Rachel Lynde, on the other hand, had much more to say.

"Sometimes I wonder if you are out of your senses, Anne, turning down a rich and handsome man like Roy. Now I'm sure you had your reasons, and I'll not say a word against you for it, but… I've said it before and I'll say it again. You're not getting any younger, dear. You've got your head full of stuff and nonsense from that university, and I can't say I'm not proud of your accomplishments, but there is more to being a woman than having a fancy degree," she stated, jabbing a finger into the countertop. Marilla sighed, embarrassed at Mrs. Lynde's impertinence, but Anne was too used to Mrs. Lynde's superior speeches to mind.

"Now I'll say only this, Anne," continued Mrs. Lynde. "Don't be too particular, or all the good ones will be gone before you know it. You'll never find the perfect man, but a _good_ one will do, and any man at all is better than being an old maid."

"Now now, Rachel. Being an old maid isn't so terrible as you may think," interjected Marilla with a slight smile. Anne was happy she had learned to laugh at herself; it used to be a sore spot with her.

"Oh, begging your pardon Marilla. You know I didn't mean that as a statement on _you,_" Mrs. Lynde added.

"And anyway," said Marilla, "I don't think that will be Anne's fate." She fixed Anne with a tender gaze. One could not help but notice how much love it contained; Anne had been Marilla's world since she first came to Green Gables eleven springs ago. Anne longed to tell Marilla that indeed it would not be her fate—that she had finally received the signals her heart had been sending since she first arrived in Avonlea—but now was not the time. At this point, the table was cleared and the dishes were done, and Anne kindly excused herself to make a visit to some of her favorite haunts.

...

The ominous clouds on the horizon reached the small town that night and the resulting storm kept Anne pent up inside Green Gables all the next day. She longed to see Gilbert; it had been years since she had explored the paths of Avonlea with him, and she cursed the rain for keeping her wish from being fulfilled. Still dearer to her heart had been the hope that Gilbert might be planning more than a mere picnic for their outing. Her expectations for the day had been high, and so her disappointment was acute.

The next morning, when the storm had run its course, the clouds parted to reveal yet another glorious spring day in Avonlea. There was much excitement in Green Gables, but none was more ecstatic than Dora, who was to have Minnie May Barry and Mary Bell sleep over that night. Marilla had been against the plan at first, but it was Anne who had convinced her to let poor Dora have her party. The girls were planning on making a cake, and having a late-night tea, and playing the piano while practicing their dancing with each other.

Dora was quite a proper girl and handled the preparations with quiet ease, but Anne could tell that she was really rather giddy inside. She was reminded of the rare sleepovers she had shared with Diana when they were young. Anne was rather excited for the evening as well, but not for the same reason as Dora. Gilbert had 'phoned Anne earlier that day to tell her he was helping his father on the farm, but would stop by after supper.

"Why we have to have such an eyesore in the house is beyond me, and what's more, we shall all die from lack of exercise," Mrs. Lynde had said, as she always did when the telephone rang. "And that infernal noise it makes! It is as if a screech owl had come to reside in the hall!" Anne had only laughed as she gave Mrs. Lynde a friendly pat on the shoulder.

When Dora's guests arrived, Anne slipped into the kitchen with Mrs. Lynde and Marilla; the former was mending a pair of Davy's trousers, while the latter embroidered a doily. Anne took up residency at the table for the better part of an hour, with a book and a cup of tea, and upon seeing the sky begin to color in brilliant oranges and pinks, went out to the front of the house to enjoy the sunset.

She sat on the porch steps, watching orange fade to red, and red to purple, and purple to blue. She imagined herself sprouting tiny wings and flying straight into the horizon, overwhelmed by a sea of brilliant colors. She was contemplating what strange, exciting world she might find on the other side, when she heard a merry whistling coming from nearby. Standing up straight and leaning on the stair railing, she saw Gilbert, striding down the lane wearing a striped green button-up shirt and beige trousers. The top button of his shirt was undone, giving him a casual appearance. His hands were in his pockets, as usual, and he made his way towards her with relative ease. This was nothing out of the ordinary, for Gilbert Blythe always seemed to be at ease; that was one of the things Anne admired about him—he was completely sure of himself, with all of the confidence and none of the vanity.

"Hello, Miss Shirley," he said, pretending to remove a hat and then replace it.

"Good evening, Mr. Blythe," Anne replied with an exaggerated curtsy.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not, I believe you did have an appointment."

"Yes, I did, although I'm sorry to have missed the last one," Gilbert said, referring to the previous day.

"I'm sorry too, although God alone can control the heavens, or so I am told," Anne sighed, gesturing towards the sky. "Instead of our lovely picnic, I found myself helping Mrs. Lynde polish the silver, while she rattled on about the new president of the Ladies Aid. She is a Tory, you know, so naturally the entire society is destined for destruction, as Mrs. Lynde puts it."

"Oh but of course," joked Gilbert. "She needn't even say so; I wouldn't expect anything less."

Just then, a reel of laughter echoed from inside the house. Gilbert raised his eyebrows and looked at Anne. "I take it that's not Marilla and Mrs. Lynde we're hearing."

"It's Dora. Mary Bell and Minnie May Barry are over for the night," Anne explained as another girlish shriek came from the open window.

"Ah," Gilbert replied. "To be young and carefree…"

"Yes remind me, what is that like? I am but an old B.A.," joked Anne. Gilbert smiled and gave a shrug as he fiddled with a loose string on the hem of his shirt. "My, it is so strange to home, here in Avonlea, knowing I won't be returning to Patty's Place in the fall," Anne continued. "I miss Phil and Stella already."

"I'd like to think you didn't leave everyone you love back in Kingsport," Gilbert teased.

"Not _everyone,_" she replied, elbowing him lightly. He returned the gesture. "Don't mistake me, I am ever so happy to be back here in Avonlea. I have missed it dearly. Sometimes I wish I could just live everywhere at once, and have everyone I love with me at once." She looked dreamily up at the tiny faded stars in the sky, which were beginning to make their appearance. Gilbert watched her; her face was so beautiful when she was lost in her imagination. He couldn't help but think that as long as he got to see _her_ every day, it wouldn't matter where he lived, or how many other loved ones were nearby.

"Well, until that day," he said, placing a hand meaningfully on her knee. "I guess we will just have to pick and choose."

"Yes..." Anne said absently, distracted by the sight of his hand resting upon her. He promptly removed it and began fiddling with his hem once again.

"Is that… chocolate, I smell?" Gilbert asked, changing the subject. Anne inhaled deeply. Sure enough, the smell of the girls' baking had made its way from the kitchen.

"Dora and her friends are making a cake," Anne explained. "They had two goals for the evening—making a cake, and practicing their dancing."

"Dancing?" Gilbert said, surprised. The girls were still quite young.

"The teacher over at Carmody is putting on a dance for all the students this summer, or at least the older ones. It's only an innocent, informal thing, and it's primarily meant to be an education in the art. Anyway they've invited the Avonlea and White Sands students as well. They're all quite excited about it."

"Hmmm," replied Gilbert. He never would have thought of such an idea back when he was a schoolteacher, but he supposed it would be a rather fun opportunity for the students.

Gilbert and Anne talked for a long while on the porch, until Gilbert could not handle the smell of the cake any longer, and asked if they might go inside to see when it was going to be served. As they opened the door and stepped inside, they found the girls in the living room. Mary was playing the piano while Dora and Minnie May attempted to waltz around the room. Gilbert and Anne slipped around them to the kitchen and, upon finding the cake was still cooling, retreated to the hallway to watch them.

"But _I_ don't want to be the boy," Minnie Mae was saying. "I don't know how to dance the boy's part."

"Well neither do I, but _somebody_ has to be the boy," retorted Dora, "and you're three inches taller than I am."

"But you know more about the waltz than I do, so I need more practice!" Minnie Mae complained.

"I've only read about it. I've never actually tried it! Maybe we should just take turns," Dora offered, trying to make peace. "Here, you'll be the boy first, and then for the next song I'll be the boy—"

"Perhaps _I_ might dance the boy's part?" came a male voice from the hallway. Anne looked at Gilbert in shock. He was striding to the center of the room, holding his hand out to Dora. The two girls simply stared at him, open-mouthed. That tall, handsome Gilbert Blythe would approach them, and at least a dozen years older than they were, now that was something! They were frozen on the spot.

"Well?" Gilbert asked, "Neither of you seemed to want to dance the boy's part. And since _I_ am a boy, I thought perhaps you could use my assistance."

Minnie May and Dora turned to look at each other, sharing a silent conversation. Minnie May tried hard to suppress a giggle; both of the girls' faces had turned red. Gilbert chuckled inwardly at their behavior. He had never realized the effect he had on thirteen-year-old girls. Blushing heavily, Dora took a step towards Gilbert.

"Alright, now," said Gilbert. "Dora, take your left hand and place it on my shoulder—there you go." Dora was absolutely beside herself with embarrassment as she did so. Mary looked on, wide-eyed, from the piano bench. "Alright, now I'm going to place my hand on your waist, right here. And now I hold your arm out like this."

Anne watched from her place in the hallway. The sight of Gilbert in the waltz position with Dora was greatly amusing. And yet, she felt she had never found him more attractive than she did just then. It was so incredibly sweet of him to volunteer to help the girls, and she knew what a thrill it must be causing them! She had no doubt of what they would be talking about in the wee hours of the night.

"Okay, let's practice first. I'm going to step forward," he said to a trembling Dora, "and you'll step back. Good. And now I'll step out to the right, and you just have to follow." As he did so, Dora stumbled over his other foot. Gilbert steadied her. "Okay, now the trick is to relax. Just let me lead you. And you just go wherever I am going, and the only thing you need to remember is the basic step, which goes like this." He showed it to her and she practiced it. After doing it once together, Gilbert decided they were ready for music.

"Alright then," Gilbert continued. "Mary, strike up the next song." Mary let out a small cry as she turned back to the piano and placed her shaky fingers on the keys. As the music commenced, Gilbert slowly began to lead Dora around the room, guiding her quietly and giving suggestions when necessary. Dora seemed rather nervous at first—the fact that she was dancing with a grown man like Gilbert only added to this—but after a few minutes, she got a feel for it and began to relax. Minnie May stood next to the piano, and she and Mary exchanged several girlish glances.

"Okay, said Gilbert. I'm going to spin you now. Just follow my lead." He did so, and after only a few tries, Dora was able to respond to his movements without misstepping. She smiled and laughed as they spun around the room in wide circles. Anne watched through watery eyes. There was something about watching Gilbert, as he twirled Dora around the living-room of Green Gables—Dora, who was like a little sister to Anne—that made her admire him greatly. He was so kind, and gentle, and sweet to her, that Anne thought Dora would surely be infatuated with him from this moment forward.

As Gilbert concluded his dance with Dora, he gave her a short bow and thanked her graciously. This caused another torrent of giggles from her companions, and Dora's face was now red as a beet.

"Alright then," he said. "Minnie May, you're next." Now it was Minnie May's turn to feel embarrassed. He gave her the same instructions he had given Dora, and several minutes later they were turning around the room as well. Anne laughed and clapped along with the music, cheering them on. Gilbert then repeated the process with Mary, who had given up her post at the piano to Dora. Anne couldn't help but notice that by now, Marilla and Rachel Lynde were peeking into the room from the kitchen door and sharing their own private commentary of the events.

When at last Gilbert released a very winded Mary, he thanked the girls for gracing him with their fine hands, and adjourned with Anne to the kitchen. Anne was taken by surprise when she realized she wanted to kiss him more in that moment than ever before. He looked over at her as he held the door open, and she beamed at him. The second it snapped shut, a chorus of high-pitched shrieks echoed from the other side.

Mrs. Lynde and Marilla greeted Gilbert enthusiastically, for he had not come around Green Gables in some time.

"That was so kind of you to dance with the girls," said Marilla. There was a certain pain in her voice as she said this—pain that her adopted children would never have the experience of having a father, or an older brother for that matter. Gilbert teaching Dora to dance had touched her heart in ways her reserved countenance could never express. Marilla was reminded of just how much she would have loved to have Gilbert for a son-in-law. He and Anne had always seemed like they were meant for each other, and she knew he would take good care of her. But more than that was the idea that something good would have resulted from her quarrel with Gilbert's father all those years ago—for if she had married John Blythe, Anne would never have come to Green Gables, and Gilbert would never have existed in quite the same way.

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Lynde, "Although I don't approve of girls so young going to a dance—I still don't quite understand _why_ you are letting them go, Marilla—but if they must, they might as well keep from making fools of themselves. It was a kind gesture, Gilbert. I'm not above giving credit where credit is due, no indeed." Anne tried to hide a smirk while Gilbert thanked Mrs. Lynde generously for her compliment, assuring her that it was nothing.

As Mrs. Lynde inquired after the health of Gilbert's mother—for she had not seen her at church the previous Sunday and had heard rumors of the doctor heading to that part of town—Anne sat with her elbow on the table and her head resting on her palm, watching the exchange; or more, watching Gilbert. She could not shake the vision of him spinning Dora in circles, with the air of an older brother leading his younger sister. Gilbert had never had any siblings, and she treasured the fact that one day, he might have Dora and Davy to fill that place in his heart. It took someone very special to break shy, proper Dora out of her shell, and Gilbert had done it.

Presently, the girls came into the kitchen to frost and cut the chocolate cake. They shot Gilbert nervous glances as they passed by the kitchen table, and Minnie May whispered something in Dora's ear. Dora's eyebrows grew wide and she elbowed Minnie Mae in the ribs. Anne and Marilla shared a smile and Anne found herself laughing under her breath. Once the cake had been cut and everyone had eaten their fill—Gilbert had three slices—Gilbert asked Anne if she would like to take a turn about the garden to walk it off. They slipped out the back door as Marilla and Mrs. Lynde washed the plates, and the girls returned to the living room.

Out in the garden, the moon was shining so brightly that it clearly illuminated every petal and leaf below. It was nearly the same size as it had been on the night of the Convocation dance, for it had been nearly full then, and had reached its peak sometime in the days between. Anne enjoyed the fresh night air, and could still smell the faint scent of the previous day's rain.

"Oh Gilbert!" she exclaimed as they slowly walked through Davy's tangled mess of plants, crossing over to Dora's neat and tidy rows. "That was simply wonderful of you to teach the girls to dance. I know Dora, at least, has no one to teach her how, and she is normally so shy and timid, and it meant the world to me to see you… oh, just… thank you, Gil," she said, rubbing the corners of her eyes to hold back any wetness that might be lurking there.

"It was my pleasure," Gilbert said. "They seemed to be quite up in arms about who might dance the male lead, and I was thinking that it was a shame there were no men in the house to teach them, and then I realized that there _was_ a man in the house—me." He chuckled at the memory.

"Well I thought it may just be the sweetest thing you have ever done," said Anne, and before she knew what she was doing, she kissed him on the cheek. Gilbert was surprised at this welcome, yet unexpected, gesture. He felt himself blushing and hoped the moonlight did not give him away.

"But you might want to watch out from now on, I imagine they'll be rather taken with you after this," Anne teased. "You gave them quite the thrill, that's for sure."

"I'll keep that in mind," Gilbert laughed.

They had made their way to the east side of the house, passing by the sad spot where the Snow Queen used to dwell, and the patch of June lilies that Anne had planted during her first summer at Green Gables. Anne was just pointing out the first tiny green buds of the season when they noticed the piano music drifting from the living room window. The girls had taken up the instrument again. Anne recognized the song to be "Simple Gifts," which was Dora's favorite for its soft, soothing melody. She stood there with closed eyes, taking in the sweet music. Anne remembered when she used to sit next to Dora on the piano bench, singing the words of the old hymn as Dora's fingers moved softly over the keys.

"'_Tis the gift to be so simple, 'tis the gift to be free,_

'_Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,_

_And when we find ourselves in the place just right,_

_'Twill be in the valley of love and delight."*_

As Anne ran through the words in her head, she was disturbed by a soft tap on her shoulder.

"And who taught you to dance, Anne?" Gilbert asked. He was reminded that Anne had never had a real father, either.

"No one, I guess," she said. "Matthew never learned, or I'm sure he would have."

"So you mean you've never danced here, at Green Gables?" he said softly.

"No," said Anne, unsure of why he would ask. Her question was answered when he held out his hand.

"Well then," he said, "there is still one young lady I have not danced with tonight." He took Anne's hand and brought her towards him.

"This song is a bit slow, Gilbert," Anne said, hoping desperately that he would counter her argument. In reality, there was nothing she wanted more than to dance with him here, in her own beautiful garden, away from pointed fingers and loud, crowded halls.

"Then we'll dance slow," he whispered. Pulling her close—so close that the flowing fabric of her dress brushed lightly against his shirt—Gilbert began to lead her with gentle steps. Anne had never danced with anyone so slowly; so intimately. She couldn't help but notice how different it felt from the other night. It was every bit as passionate and spell-binding as the dance they had shared then, yet it was also more sweet, and tender, and private. They were hardly moving as they spun in soft circles on the grass.

Dora's soft music continued to drift into the night air. Every now and then, Gilbert would lift her arm over her head and twirl her lightly, only to pull her close once more. Although Anne had called Green Gables home for many years, in that moment, "home" meant so much more to her than ever before. _Home _was not simply a white house with green shutters, or a warm bed, or a neatly kept garden. _Home _was being held safe in the arms of the one you love. _Home _was Gilbert, and wherever he was, that was where she wanted to be. She sighed as she lost herself in the moment; his eyes held her captive.

When the song finally ended, the music changed to a livelier piece, yet Anne and Gilbert did not notice. They continued turning slowly, oblivious to all but each other. Gilbert's arm was wrapped gently around her waist, and they were so close that her forearm ran along his shoulder, her fingers brushing against the short hairs on the back of his neck. As they swayed together, they were ignorant of the two women gazing at them from the kitchen window.

"Would you look at that," said Marilla, leaning against the pane.

Mrs. Lynde drew herself up next to Marilla and put her arm around her old friend's shoulder. "I was wondering, when he came around today, if something had changed between them. We haven't seen him here in so long."

"She was always real torn up about the loss of his friendship, although she tried not to show it."

"Well then," said Mrs. Lynde, "I think we've found the reason for Anne's refusal of that Roy fellow."

"Yes," sighed Marilla, "I think it's safe to say we have."

"I always told you Providence designed those two for each other," Mrs. Lynde said matter-of-factly, "or take everything else I've ever said with a grain of salt. Heavens, take a whole spoonful at that! I must say, Marilla, I don't hold with such nonsense as 'true love,' but if ever it did exist here on this earth, it's standing right here before us."

Marilla stood quietly as a single tear slid softly down her cheek. She had watched Anne and Gilbert grow together for over a decade. Terrified, she had seen Anne walk in her own footsteps, throwing away love when it stared her right in the face. Marilla couldn't bear the thought of Anne losing Gilbert the way she had lost John, and she had been incredibly sad when she heard that Anne had turned down his proposals. As she watched them now, dancing in the garden, oblivious to all but each other, she knew that Anne had finally found the love she had always desired but never recognized. The knowledge of it touched her soul, and made her own hard past worth the struggle. To think that she had helped the wispy-thin, fast-talking, love-starved child that first arrived at Green Gables become the woman that stood before her now—the thought took Marilla's breath away.

"I wonder what did it," she mused, as she stood transfixed before the glass of the window.

"Heaven knows what makes the heart beat the way it does! Or what brings it to its senses!" Mrs. Lynde cried. "But I can see the way she's looking at him. There's no mistaking it, she's 'dead gone,' as Davy would put it."

Marilla laughed, which she liked to think Anne had taught her how to do. "Dead gone, indeed."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I thought it would be fun to add a few of the Avonlea characters into the mix, for what is Anne of Green Gables without Avonlea? I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for readingreviewing, you are all the best! And don't worry, I won't string you along forever, although it has been quite fun doing so…**

*Taken from "Simple Gifts," by Joseph Bracket, 1848.

katherinebrooke: I wasn't even planning on bringing Roy back into it (originally, I had this chapter ready to post in place of that one), but like you, I felt she needed some closure. I'm glad you agree!

katherine-with-a-k: As I said, you know me (or Gilbert perhaps) too well! I had to bring it back to Avonlea, it was only right!

Heidru: So many possibilities! It was hard for me to even pick one, but I have :) I hope you will like it.

TheMaraudersLove: I did not expect it either! As I told Katherine, I wasn't even planning on bringing Roy back in. But it had to happen, and so it just did...

Maddi4: Aww thanks, I wish this story would never end. I am going to be so sad! But I'll write some new ones if that helps!

Lilies of Avonlea: Hand holding has always been one of my favorite things. I was determined to get a romantic hand holding scene in there, if nothing else!

Raindropcatcher: You put that so fantastically. New discovered, yet old and strong. Lovely!

Lina: Your comment came exactly as I was posting this... so I am happy to grant you your wish! There is nothing I love better than binging on a story, so your comment meant a lot!


	12. Redo

**Chapter 12: Redo  
><strong>

**T**

It was nearly dawn in Avonlea; the day was so new that the sun's light had yet to peak over the hills that surrounded the small town. The houses below lay under a blanket of darkness. The crickets still made their sweet music in the brook, and the frogs continued to croak in a deep chorus among the grassy reeds of the Lake of Shining Waters. The soft chirps of birds could begin to be heard, as the tiny winged creatures began to stir from their nests.

An air of stillness still lay about Green Gables. The quiet snores of Mrs. Lynde could be heard in the spare bedroom, while Davy slept silently in the west gable room. In the living room, shafts of moonlight fell atop three small figures—Dora lay on the couch while Minnie Mae and Mary slept equally as soundly on the floor atop Marilla's woven rugs, and covered by Mrs. Lynde's tobacco-stripe quilts.

The sense of peace and quiet in the country house was all encompassing, until it was interrupted by the creak of the stairs, as a pair of pale feet made their way down the steps and towards the kitchen. A light shone faintly behind the door, and the hallway was thrown into sharp relief as it was pulled open.

"Good morning, Marilla," Anne yawned, bringing a lightly curled fist in front of her mouth. Marilla looked up from the work table, where she was spooning flour into a ceramic bowl.

"Heavens, child! I am surprised to see you awake at this hour!" Marilla exclaimed.

"I couldn't sleep any longer," Anne said, "and besides, I like to awaken before the sun. I enjoy the simple pleasure of watching the world slowly increase in color and sharpness; it is almost like a miracle, which repeats itself every day. And knowing I am one of the few people to see it unfold also makes it sort of like a secret." She glanced out of the window as she said this, yet the garden was still shrouded in darkness.

"Well, you might as well make yourself useful," replied Marilla, who had a habit of dismissing Anne's poetic speeches. She would never admit to Anne how much she had missed them whenever she was away. "Put the kettle on, will you? I could do with some tea, now that someone else is up to enjoy it as well."

Anne got the tea started, while Marilla pumped a bit of water into the bowl. She then unbuttoned her sleeves and began to roll them up.

"Here, let me help you with that. It's easier with two hands," Anne offered, drawing herself up next to Marilla and gently rolling the sleeves up to her elbows. Marilla gave a small sigh as she allowed Anne to assist her. Anne smiled, knowing that it took a great effort for Marilla to allow someone else to do a job she could manage on her own.

"Thank you," Marilla stated simply, as she plunged her fingers into the mixture and began to knead it vigorously. She cleared her throat. "You had trouble sleeping, Anne?" Anne looked up at Marilla, surprised. How did Marilla know how sleepless her night had been?

"Hmmm?" she replied.

"You mentioned that you couldn't sleep any longer, just a minute ago," Marilla said, fixing Anne with an inquisitive look.

"Oh, did I? Yes, I did," Anne said, flustered. "It's nothing much. It was just one of those nights, I suppose." Anne turned away from Marilla, in search of a pan for the biscuits she was making, which would soon be ready for the oven. Indeed, Anne had slept very ill that night, for her mind had been full of Gilbert. She had replayed their moonlit dance over and over in her mind. She had also dwelt upon the vision of him guiding a twirling, laughing Dora around the living room. Then her thoughts had turned to expectations of the future, and wondering when, if ever, he might ask her to be his wife. Her thoughts and her dreams had intertwined so completely that she was unable to separate the two. She was clueless as to whether she had slept the whole night or merely lain in quiet contemplation. As she found the pan she was searching for, Anne turned back to face Marilla, whose eyes were directed at the bowl of dough she was mixing.

"Was there something in particular, which kept your mind from resting?" Marilla asked. Anne sighed as she set the pan down on the table. It was unusual for Marilla to be inquisitive; she must suspect a reason for Anne's restlessness. Still, she wasn't going to spill her secrets to Marilla so easily. If Marilla wanted to know about Gilbert, she would need to work for it.

"Why does there need to be a reason for my trouble sleeping?" Anne inquired innocently. Marilla gave a small smile as she began to wad the dough into a ball.

"Well," she said. "I find, whenever I have a restless night, that my mind is wrapped up in something, _whether I realize it or not_." She glanced at Anne as she emphasized the last few words of her sentence.

"My life is at a kind of crossroads, now that my time at Redmond is through, and so naturally there are many things on my mind," Anne countered. "It would be hard for me to discern just which one is the cause for my disquiet."

"Indeed…" Marilla said dryly. "Well, have it your way then," she added, making it clear that she was dropping the subject for Anne's sake. Anne simply could not handle the implications of her remark.

"Well, go on then," Anne said. "Tell me what's on your mind. Clearly _you_ have some unspoken ideas about the direction of my thoughts." Marilla took the ball of dough and placed it on the table, rolling it with a wooden pin. She was not used to having to illicit information from Anne; usually Anne saved her the hassle by supplying it willingly herself, and in abundant quantities.

"Well, when I suggested your thoughts might be wrapped up in _something_, I suppose I meant to say, _someone._"

Anne felt the blood flowing to her cheeks as she sensed Marilla's implications. She knew Marilla was a discerning woman; she must have realized the significance of Gilbert's visit the night before. It was no surprise; he hadn't come around Green Gables in two years. Resigning herself to tell the truth, Anne turned to face Marilla.

"Marilla, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, child."

"Have you ever thought you knew everything about someone—thought you knew exactly how you felt about them, and then suddenly seen them in a new light?" Anne looked silently at Marilla, waiting. Marilla smiled slightly, her suspicions about Anne confirmed. She set the rolling pin on the table and paused to look at Anne.

"Yes," she admitted. "It happens to us often in life, I think. I believe it is God's way of keeping us humble—he shows us that we are not as all-knowing as we think we are. Although, I think in your case, he made an extra thorough job of proving his point." She smiled at Anne, giving her a knowing look.

"You mean, you know? About—"

"Of course I know who you're talking about, Anne. I might add, that I am…" Marilla paused. She was not a sentimental woman; she could never truly explain to Anne the feelings of joy and relief, and _fulfillment_, she had experienced upon seeing her dancing with Gilbert in the garden. "—pleased. More pleased than I have been about anything, in a long while."

"Do you really mean that, Marilla?" Anne gasped, setting herself down in a chair, one leg under her and the other brushing against the floor.

"Would I ever lie to you, Anne?"

"And you don't think me… _fickle_… and _capricious?" _she asked, Christine's words from the Convocation dance echoing inside her head. Although she had shrugged them aside at the time, they remained with her, deep down. A part of her wondered if Gilbert himself might think her both of these things, and perhaps that was why he hadn't asked her to marry him—perhaps he, too, thought she might soon change her mind about him. It was this notion that had kept her from achieving sleep the night before, and the more she had pondered it over, the more she had convinced herself of its truth.

Marilla set the dough aside, staring Anne straight in the eyes. Her heart went out to the poor girl, at the thought that Anne might believe herself either of those things. She had heard the desperation in Anne's voice as she pronounced the words. "Whoever would put such an idea into your head? You aren't fickle, Anne. _Stubborn_, perhaps… _romantic, yes…. _but not _fickle_. And caprice is not among your faults. You've loved Gilbert Blythe all your life. I've known that for years, although I dared not suggest it, goodness knows we have Rachel for that sort of thing. I wouldn't say you've changed your feelings towards the boy—you've merely realized them." Anne looked back at Marilla through wide eyes. Her comforting words had been exactly what Anne needed. She hoped Gilbert felt the same way Marilla did.

"Goodness gracious, am I truly the last to know?" said an exasperated Anne. "Everyone seems to have perceived my love for Gilbert, except me."

"Love is blinding, Anne. I know that better than most." There was an edge in her voice as she said this, and Anne knew it was true. Yet the difference between Anne and Marilla was that Anne had discovered her true feelings before it was too late; Marilla had not been so lucky. Finished with the biscuits, Marilla crossed to the sink to wash off the excess dough which clung to her fingers. Anne took the tray and placed in the oven. Marilla then dried her hands on a towel and approached Anne, placing her hands on her shoulders.

"I've never seen you as happy as you looked last night, Anne. And that makes _me_ happy." Marilla's eyes were sparkling slightly; Anne could not tell if it was from the lamplight or from tears.

"Oh Marilla, you have no idea just _how_ happy. Everything just makes such sense now; it is as if my entire life has been turned upside down, only for me to find it is really right side up! And it makes me feel like such a fool, yet a happy fool; a supremely, utterly, happy foul." Anne began to laugh as she said the words. It was clear to Marilla that Anne truly was happy; her joy was written on her face. Marilla found she could not help but pull her sweet little girl into a rare embrace.

"Now now, child. Let's not get too sentimental," she said, releasing Anne and regaining a sense of her usual reserve. "Too much excitement isn't good for the body." She couldn't help but let out a small smile as she said this. Anne grinned back, and went to pour the tea.

An hour later, Anne and Marilla sat together at the kitchen table, nursing cups of tea and waiting for the biscuits to cool. The sun was now in the sky, and the world was slowly becoming more vibrant. Anne recounted to Marilla various stories of Patty's Place, and of Convocation, and of her other doings at Redmond, while Marilla told Anne what she could of life in Avonlea. Anne shouldered a large share of the conversation, but neither minded—things were as they should be.

It was still quite early; the other residents of the house remained asleep, and so Anne and Marilla decided to breakfast without them. Anne placed butter and preserves on the table, and had just gone to serve the biscuits, when she saw Gilbert coming around the side of the house. Her heart began to beat quickly as she set the platter of pastries on the table and went to open the back door.

"Gilbert!" she said. "I wasn't expecting until before noon."

"Hello, Anne. Hello, Marilla," Gilbert said, stepping into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Gilbert," said Marilla plainly. "Did you walk here?"

"Yes, ma'am," Gilbert replied.

"You must have left while it was still dark," she said, eyeing him carefully, and thinking that only a lovesick boy would set out before sunrise to make a house call.

"Yes," Gilbert admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. "I had planned to help my father shoe the horses this morning. But it turns out he needs to visit the smithy first, so we'll do it on Monday instead." He then turned to Anne. "I thought we might get an early start to our outing; I know how much you love taking walks in the morning."

Anne smiled as she looked out the window; the day was absolutely beautiful and she wanted nothing more than to find herself in it—with Gilbert.

"Would you mind terribly, Marilla?" Anne said, crossing to her and placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Of course not, dear. I've plenty to do around here without your ceaseless ramblings," Marilla said. This caused both women to smile; these days Anne did not chatter on nearly as much as she used to.

Anne and Gilbert soon left for their expedition around Avonlea, but not before Gilbert had eaten four biscuits, and Anne two. They brought with them a basket containing their lunch, for they planned to spend the entire day reacquainting themselves with all of their favorite places. They strode down Lovers' Lane, past the Dryad's Bubble and through the Haunted Wood. They then continued through Violet Vale and Birch Path, finally finding themselves in the valley with their old apple tree. Gilbert climbed its rough trunk and threw down a few ripe red apples, which Anne added to the basket. Afterwards they returned back the way they had come, and turned to stroll around the Lake of Shining Waters. As they approached the shore, Anne found a particularly beautiful patch of white narcissus growing by the side of the road. Gilbert helped her pick a large bouquet of it.

"Oh, how I would love to lay these flowers on Matthew's grave! Marilla never could understand my constantly adorning the kitchen table with narcissus; it wasn't practical, she said, since one cannot eat a flower, and so I might as well have left it in the ground. But Matthew always told me he felt they brightened up the room." Anne buried her nose in the white petals.

"Well, then why don't we? Let's go right now," Gilbert suggested. Anne thought it rather sweet of Gilbert to offer to visit Matthew's grave with her, but she worried the task might bore him; he had never really known Matthew himself.

"I don't want to drag you along," Anne replied, "I can go by myself this evening."

"Anne, you could never _drag_ me anywhere. I'd like to go. In fact, I insist." And with that he whisked the bouquet out of her grasp and set off around the lake, in the direction of the cemetery. Sometimes Anne felt that Gilbert could be just as stubborn as her. Laughing, she ran to catch up, reclaiming the flowers from his arms.

As they walked along, Anne was reminded of days of old, when she and Gilbert would wander around Avonlea together. Their outing today was much like those of the past, yet it also felt slightly different. The dynamic between them had changed; it contained a mutual yet unspoken understanding of their feelings for each other. Neither mentioned it outwardly, yet it showed in their eyes, and their smiles, and their gestures. It was tense and exhilarating and unbearable, all at the same time.

"What was Matthew like?" Gilbert asked as they reached the cemetery. Matthew had always been rather shy, and Gilbert had never had the opportunity to get to know him. Anne pondered his question a moment, as she knelt down and laid the flowers carefully over the smooth gravestone.

"He was one of the kindest, gentlest souls God ever created," she said simply. She stood over his grave, reading the engraving that she and Marilla had chosen.

"You loved him dearly, didn't you?" Gilbert said softly.

"Yes… and how could I not? He was the first person to ever love me." Anne wore a tender look as she continued to stare down at the earth covering Matthew's grave. "Besides my parents, of course," she added. Gilbert had never thought of that before—Matthew really was the first person to have ever cared for Anne, even before Marilla. It saddened him greatly, that it had taken Anne so long to finally find someone who appreciated the beautiful person she was. He wondered how she had managed to keep the light inside her soul alive during all of those years of never being wanted by anyone. A lesser spirit would have been crushed, and hardened, yet not Anne's. Right then and there, he made the decision to love her so deeply, and with such intensity, that it would make up for all of the loveless years of her life, and then some. He decided he would start right now, by reaching for her hand and lacing his fingers into hers.

Gilbert's gesture brought Anne a similar sensation as it had the previous time. There was a certain sense of belonging that came with holding Gilbert's hand, which she treasured greatly. They stood there a while before Matthew's grave. Anne said a few carefully crafted words, and then Gilbert added in his own short tribute. Anne brought two fingers up to her mouth and kissed them. Then she pressed them against the gravestone. Afterwards, they exited the cemetery and continued on their way. Gilbert's house could be seen in the distance as they descended the hill and began to travel around the west side of the lake. They hadn't gone far when the schoolhouse came into view, off in the distance.

"We should go down and visit it," Gilbert suggested, "for old time's sake."

"During the middle of the day?" Anne asked. "There will be children there… the school year doesn't end until June."

"It's Saturday, you ninny. Have you lost track of time?"

Anne blushed as she realized her mistake, "Oh, of course!" With that they ran down the hill, laughing like they used to do when they were schoolchildren. When they arrived at the whitewashed building, winded and gasping for air, Gilbert set the picnic basket down on the step in front of the door. Then they both leaned back against the wall. Once they had both caught their breath, Gilbert took off around the side of the building.

"Where are you going, Gil?" Anne asked as she jogged to catch up with him.

"I thought it might be fun to go inside. It's been years since I've done so."

"But we can't get in, Gilbert. They never leave it unlocked."

"Does it look as if I am planning on using the front door?" Gilbert stood back now, surveying the windows along the wall. His face had adopted that familiar devilish look—it was the look he wore when he was concentrated on some form of mischief or other. "The far right window doesn't latch properly. Didn't you know that?" He crossed to the window in question and began to feel the wood around the pane.

"Gilbert, I taught school here for two years. I think I would know if—" At that moment, Gilbert pressed his hands firmly on either side of the window and thrust upwards. The window opened an inch. He then stuck his fingers into the newly formed gap and pried it open. Anne stood back in amazement.

"You were saying?" he asked, wiping his hands together, his lips curled up into a roughish grin.

"How on earth did you discover that?" Anne asked in disbelief.

"Charlie, Moody and I used to sneak in here on weekends. If you really must know, we are the reason it doesn't latch properly. That is to say, we broke it… one day when the rest of the class was collecting plants outside." He smiled innocently at Anne, waiting for the stern reprimand he knew he was about to receive.

"Gilbert Blythe! You _broke_ the window? How?"

"Wacked at the latch with a hammer," said Gilbert, as if he broke latches with hammers every day.

"A _hammer?_"

"Yes, Moody nicked it from his father," Gilbert stated simply. "As I was saying, we used to come in here on the weekends. We would do all of the things we knew Mr. Phillips hated."

"As in…"

"Well, we would draw crude pictures of him on the blackboard, and sometimes we would stand up at the front of the room, imitating him, or we would reenact events that we had found particularly amusing. And we would chew gum and put it under his seat, and carve our names under the desks, and bounce balls off of the walls. We broke the window once, doing that," Gilbert said, gesturing at the window to the left of the one he had opened.

"That was you?" Anne exclaimed. "I remember the day we all came and that window was broken. And Mr. Phillips lined us all up on the wall and questioned each one of us in turn!"

"Yes," replied Gilbert in a dazed voice. He was clearly recalling the memory in his head.

"And Tillie Boulter was brought to tears!"

"Yes," Gilbert chuckled.

"You boys are something else," Anne said as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Well then?" Gilbert said. "I'll help you up first, and then I'll climb in after you." He immediately bent his left knee and motioned for her to place her foot on it.

"You can hardly expect me to climb in through the window!" Anne cried. Gilbert, however, did not move; he was perfectly serious.

"Sure I can," he replied. "Come on, now."

Shaking her head and muttering under her breath, Anne approached Gilbert and placed her right foot on his knee. Slowly she stood up, putting her full weight on it. He tightened one hand around her leg, while the other grasped her side, holding her steady. Anne placed both hands on the window pane. Pushing against it, she pulled herself through the opening. As she wiggled her way inside, she thought how odd she must look from Gilbert's point of view. Not wanting to allow him the pleasure, she rolled headfirst onto the floor with a thud. She stood up, straightening her dress, as Gilbert sprang nimbly in behind her.

"Wow, it's been years since I've been inside here," Gilbert remarked, looking around.

"I know," said Anne, "four years for me."

The room looked exactly as it always had, with three rows of desks, each seat large enough to fit two students. A black stove was in the front left corner, and the master's desk was in the center, directly in front of the blackboard. So many memories came back to Anne as the stood in the little room—memories as both a student and a teacher.

"Did you really carve your names into the desks?" Anne asked.

"Sure did," Gilbert replied. "I'll show you." He led her to a desk in the front row. Then he got down on his hands and knees and peered under it. "Ah, here it is," he said, motioning for her to join him. Anne bent down as well and craned her neck under the seat. Beneath it were Gilbert, Charlie, and Moody's initials.

"That's not the only one," he said. Anne noticed that he didn't offer to show her where else his name had been carved.

"Remember the time when Ruby Gillis fainted, over there in the corner?" Anne asked, walking to the spot in question.

"Ah yes, that was when Charlie Sloane bumped his nose against his desk, and started bleeding furiously," he said, laughing at the memory. "You girls were all so silly around blood."

Anne and Gilbert continued to make their way around the room, sharing memories and recounting dozens of stories. Anne found it all rather thrilling, for it was the first time she and Gilbert had been inside the schoolhouse together on speaking terms.

"You know," Gilbert said. "There was one story that Moody and Charlie always wanted to reenact, but I never let them."

"Is that so?" Anne asked, intrigued. "What story was that?"

"I'll give you one guess," Gilbert said with a wink. Anne's face colored slightly as she realized what Gilbert was referring to.

"Of course," she said, "the slate. I'll never live that down." Although it had been many years since that unfortunate incident, Anne still grew red with embarrassment whenever it was mentioned. Her temper had been in top shape that day, and on display for all to see.

"Let's see," Gilbert said, leading Anne across the room and placing a finger pensively on his chin. "You were sitting right here," he pointed to a seat in the center aisle. Anne followed his gaze. "Well, go on then." Anne realized Gilbert wanted her to sit down. Humoring him, she did so.

"Right. And I was sitting here," he positioned himself across the aisle from her. Apparently, he thought it would be a fun game to reenact the scene. Anne thought of just how juvenile it was, to be sitting here in the same spots they had occupied all those years ago, yet it was also rather fun.

"And you had your chin propped in your hands, and you were blatantly ignoring me—"

"I wasn't ignoring you!" Anne said. Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "At least, not on purpose," she added. "I was gazing at the Lake of Shining Waters. I was thinking of what a shame it was, that we should be cooped up inside on such a beautiful day. And I was imagining instead that I was a mermaid, who dwelt in a castle at the bottom of its murky depths." Gilbert put his hand to his forehead and smiled, while shaking his head.

"I thought for sure you were ignoring me! I was doing everything I could to make you look at me. I cleared my throat, and I threw a tiny pebble at your hair, and I leaned forward in my seat, waving my arm in the open space before us…"

"I never knew that!" Anne said. "Although I can't say I'm surprised." Gilbert laughed.

"Well anyway, as I said. You were looking the other way, with your face in your hands…" he stopped, waiting for her to do so. Deciding to go ahead and play Gilbert's little game, she propped both elbows on the desk and rested her head in her hands, looking out the window. Gilbert rustled in his seat for a moment before continuing.

"Alright. And I was here, trying to get your attention. But it wasn't working, and so…" she heard him lean out into the aisle, and just as she expected, she felt a soft tug on her hair.

"Carrots! Carrots!" Gilbert hissed.

She whirled around, preparing to feign extreme outrage, when she was surprised to find Gilbert on the edge of his seat, holding a single lily in his hands. It didn't occur to her to wonder where the lily had come from; he hadn't had it when they entered. He stayed there a moment, without speaking.

"I don't think that's how it went last time, Gilbert," she said, stretching her fingers out to grab the flower. He caught her hand.

"Well this isn't last time. This is this time." As he said this, he slid gently into the aisle, placing his weight on one knee while resting an arm on the desk behind Anne.

"This is the place where I fell in love with you, Anne. Right here, in this very spot. Did you know that?" Gilbert said, staring right into her eyes. Anne shook her head softly, unable to speak. He fixed her with a look so intense, that Anne felt herself begin to tremble.

"Ever since that day, I've only known one thing for certain, and that is that you are the only one for me." Gilbert brought Anne's hand to his lips and kissed it softly. "You are so… so… unpredictable. And yet you are always, uncompromisingly, _you._ And that is what I love about you. And maybe I don't know everything about you yet, and probably never will, but I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life trying."

Anne could hardly believe her ears. Of all of the scenarios she had dreamed up over the past week, this had not been one of them. Anne had imagined Gilbert proposing to her in every single place in Avonlea, from her own kitchen to even the post office, but this was one idea that had never entered her mind. Yet it was such a very _Gilbert _thing to do, and leave it to Gilbert to catch her off her guard. She held her breath as he continued.

"I love you dearly, Anne. Will you promise to marry me, and be my wife someday?" Gilbert asked the question calmly, yet she could see the urgency in his expression. She wondered if any doubt was hidden there as well. He stared at her as if his very life depended on the answer she was about to give.

Anne looked deeply into Gilbert's eyes—those eyes she loved so completely—and smiled. She stood up slowly, guiding him upwards as well. She took hold of the hand that was not already grasping hers.

"I once told Marilla something, that I have found to be true to this day," Anne said, looking into Gilbert's eyes. He continued to gaze at her, wondering why she should mention Marilla, yet waiting patiently. "I told her… that one encouraging thing about me is that I never make the same mistake twice."* She paused, waiting for her words to sink in. After a moment, Gilbert's expression softened, and his lips began to part in the traces of a smile.

"In case you were wondering," she continued, "that means yes. I _will_ marry you." Gilbert's smile grew so wide that she wondered how it didn't escape his face entirely, and with that Anne threw her arms around his neck. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around, before setting her back down. He brought his hand to her face and ran his thumb along her jaw.

"I love you, Anne," he said, his voice shaking slightly.

"I love you too, Gilbert."

Gilbert pulled Anne closer, gazing deeply into her eyes. Then, in the same spot where Anne Shirley had once broken her slate over Gilbert Blythe's head, he kissed her, with all of the intensity and feeling of the first time he had done so. A wave of emotion washed over Anne as his lips met hers, strongly yet tenderly at the same time. He held her face with both hands as he moved his tongue softly against hers, then he wrapped both arms around her waist. Anne placed her hands on Gilbert's chest, clenching the fabric of his shirt in her closed fists. She closed her eyes as the hairs of her arms stood on end. Her body tingled from head to toe, and her stomach swarmed with butterflies, just as it had the day he kissed her in the park. The difference this time was that she didn't have to decide whether or not to enjoy herself. She didn't have to worry about confused feelings or impropriety. All she had to do was surrender to his touch, and allow herself to be carried away in his love.

Their current exchange carried equal passion as their first encounter in that small building, yet instead of taking the form of anger and hatred, it was replaced by one of love and belonging. Anne cherished the touch, and smell, and taste of Gilbert; his kiss only lasted for several seconds, yet it felt much longer to her. When he pulled his lips away from hers, she was overwhelmed with longing for more of him. Brushing her lips with one last peck, he stood back and held her out at arm's length.

"I don't think that is how it went last time, either," he said with a smile. His face was flushed and he was breathing more rapidly than usual. Anne wrapped her arms around him and placed her chin against his chest, looking up into his eyes.

"I think this time was better," she said. Gilbert smiled as he kissed her forehead. He cherished the simple fact that he _could_ kiss her forehead—that she would allow him to do so. He kissed it again just because he could.

"Perhaps the ghost of eleven-year-old Anne Shirley is hovering above us now, weeping her eyes out and wailing in sorrow," Gilbert said with a smirk.

"Yes, and the ghost of thirteen-year-old Gilbert Blythe is having quite a laugh at her expense," Anne added, glancing at the ceiling above them for traces of any phantoms. Gilbert laughed and pulled her in close, stroking the back of her head with his hand. He ran his fingers through her long golden-red hair, over and over again, cherishing the feel of each soft strand between his fingertips. Anne took his other hand into hers and began to play with his fingers. They stayed that way a moment, until Anne commented that she wouldn't mind returning to the fresh air. Gilbert helped her back through the window and onto the ground. Hand in hand, they made their way back towards the lake.

"Can I ask you something?" Anne said, as they crossed the bridge over the water. Gilbert turned to lean against the wooden railing.

"Of course," he replied.

"Why now? Why did you wait?" Anne asked, remembering the question that had been burning in her mind for the past week. Gilbert took a hand and placed it on the side of Anne's head, brushing his fingers against her ear.

"Because it didn't feel right any other way," he said plainly. "I wanted to finish things where they started."

"Well, I'd hardly say you've _finished_ things…"

"You know what I mean," he said, tapping the top of her nose.

"And you knew all along, exactly how you were going to do it?" she asked, impressed.

"Anne, I've wanted to marry you my entire life. I've had plenty of time to decide how I wanted to ask you. I couldn't the first time, since we were in Redmond—"

"Let's not talk about the first time. We hardly need more evidence of my folly," Anne interrupted. Gilbert laughed and dropped the subject.

When they had thoroughly wandered every path and hollow Avonlea had to offer, Gilbert and Anne returned to Green Gables for tea. Anne would forever remember the reactions of the Green Gables folk, as she had told them the news.

Mrs. Lynde had sent the bucket of peas she was shelling flying into the air, and then followed her mishap with countless proclamations, in the form of "I knew it all along" and "Providence will have its way," and "Just wait until I tell Mrs. Harrison." Less than ten minutes later she had grabbed her shawl and bustled out into the lane, in order to secure herself the office of informing the entire town.

Marilla had begun to cry silent tears, which was something Anne had not seen her do since Matthew died. She had pulled Anne into a firm embrace, before approaching Gilbert and taking him into an even tighter one. She had then swept from the room, determined not to let slip another ounce of sentimentality.

Davy had simply asked, "Are you a widower or a heathen, Gilbert? Because Mrs. Lynde said that Anne would surely marry one or the other. And what is a heathen, Anne? I want to know."

Dora had been quite pleased, and congratulated Anne enthusiastically. She had been unwilling to look at Gilbert; she had yet to recover from the embarrassment of the prior evening. She also seemed a bit disappointed that her first infatuation should have to end so soon.

As evening fell upon Avonlea, the time came for Gilbert to return home. Anne saw him to the end of the lane. Upon reaching it, they stopped, and Anne brought her arms around Gilbert's waist. He mimicked her movements.

"I will see you tomorrow then?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Yes," Gilbert replied. "And the next day, and the next day."

"And the one after that?" Anne asked.

"Hmmm, I'll have to think about it," Gilbert said playfully. Anne pinched his arm. "Alright then, yes. I'll see you every day, until the summer is over."

"I fear that day already!" Anne exclaimed. "Three years is such a long time to only see you on occasion…"

"Perhaps you should enjoy the break. Because once I'm through with medical school, you'll never be able to get rid of me," he grinned. With that he kissed Anne tenderly, teasing her lower lip with his tongue. His touch was so sensual that Anne was left stupefied. She let out a small groan, which made Gilbert laugh.

"I love you," he said. Anne smiled, then abruptly her face changed; a dreamy look passed over it. She seemed to have realized something. Gilbert then kissed her temple, followed by her forehead, and then the tip of her nose.

"I love you, Anne-girl," he repeated, before kissing her lightly on the lips. He then drew back slightly. He cupped Anne's face in his hands, wanting to know just what thought could have suddenly consumed her so. He stood there awhile, waiting for her to speak, but she did not. She was looking at him with a fierce gaze; he would give anything to know what she was thinking. Even Gilbert's patience had its limits.

"Say something, Anne."

Anne continued to gaze at Gilbert. She brought her hand up to his face and twisted a lock of his brown hair around her fingertip, while biting her lip softly. She smiled as she brought herself to speak.

"I love you…_ my Gilbert." _

* * *

><p><strong>The End!<strong>

**AN: Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! The fact that you've made it to the end is quite the compliment. I had a blast writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Thanks so much to all who reviewed, it gave me the encouragement to keep going and going! It's been a while now since I finished this story but I still read and enjoy reviews, so don't be shy! I'd love to know what you thought.**

**If you are hungry for more, never fear! I have a sequel out, called "Around the Bend." That, too, is now complete. Just scroll up the list of titles and you should find it near the top.**

_*A special shout-out to Raindropcatcher, for letting me borrow one of her ideas. The connection between Anne accepting Gilbert's proposal and never making the same mistake twice was all hers, and it was brilliant! She graciously allowed me to use it… you can catch it in her wonderful Snatches of Sunshine story.**  
><strong>_


End file.
